Joey Mancuso Mysteries Box Set

by Owen Parr

  I walked back to the conference table. Pat had an ice-cold Brooklyn Lager wrapped in a napkin and a Gurkha Heritage stogie at the ready for me.

  “Sounded like a good call,” Agnes said.

  “Maybe your Tad can get this lawsuit dismissed.”

  “Who’s your Tad?” Achi asked Agnes, with a slight hint of jealousy.

  Agnes whispered something to Achi, and they both laughed.

  This was going to sound a bit abrupt, but I wanted to move things along. “Okay, folks. I think I’m going back to Barcelona.”

  “Did you get a clue from these people?” Dom asked.

  “Forget the person that visited me. I think the sisters found a nice niche with the partners. They moved in and took over.”

  “I don’t think they ordered the hits,” Dom added

  “Maybe they did to protect their newfound wealth,” I offered.

  “Possibly, but I’m betting not,” Dom concluded.

  “So, what’s your angle,” Agnes asked.

  “Sofia and Susana are about to take over the whole thing. Senior Wetherly is in his last innings, and Stevens is getting up in years and is almost ready to retire, so I’m going to make the sisters an offer they can’t refuse.”

  “Oh, oh. Where have I heard that before?” Patrick chuckled.

  I smiled. “Sofia is pulling the strings. She’s the older sister, got Susan hooked up with Maestro, and controls Richard Stevens. If this organized crime connection is exposed, they are all likely to lose everything they have. Properties confiscated, assets frozen, and of course, jail time. My angle, Agnes, is to offer Sofia a way to keep what they have if she offers up the person who ordered the hit.”

  “Do you think she knows? Dom asked.

  “I’m going to assume she doesn’t. I’m going to let her and Susana do our work and let them uncover the person for us. We don’t seem to have a way to do it ourselves.”

  “You think they will?” Agnes asked.

  “Greed and survival are their motivators. They survived their orphanage and their adoption and came out of it with resolution. I’m pretty sure they will.”

  “Two questions, Joey,” said Dom.

  “Give me the first one.”

  “What if the sisters are the perpetrators? What then? You’re exposing yourself.”

  “True. If so, they’re admitting their guilt by coming after me.”

  “You seem to enjoy putting yourself in harm’s way.”

  “Not really, brother. I don’t like it when people shoot at me. But, they’ll know I’m not the only one that knows about them.”

  “Oh great, so they’ll come after us too.”

  “No, if these two are the guilty ones, they’ll pack it in and run to…I was going to say Venezuela, like the old song “Matilda,” but Venezuela is not where you want to go these days. No, they’ll find a place with no extradition treaty and go there. Again, they are survivors.”

  “My second question is this: are you going to let them off the hook to continue their illicit schemes after we find the perp?”

  “Maybe, if they cut us in on their deals,” I said. I wanted to see Dom’s reaction.

  He knew me better than anyone, so he didn’t say anything. Everyone looked at him, expecting some response.

  I went on after a few seconds of silence. “Of course not. I have a plan for that also. But, one thing at a time.”

  “Sofia knows who you really are by now. You think she’s going to talk to you?” Dom kept up with his questions.

  She wants my body was my immediate thought. “She’ll meet with me. Better she knows who I really am. Less explanation to do.”

  “When do you want to leave? I’ll make the arrangements,” Agnes said.

  “As soon as you can get me a flight.”

  While Agnes began her search, Achi, who had been quiet up to now, said, “I have to tell you this story. I was in Barcelona, once embedded with the Guardia Civil, and—”

  “I have a direct flight to Barcelona, leaving today at five thirty-five out of JFK. Puts you there at seven fifteen in the morning.”

  “Sorry, Professor. Book it, Agnes.”

  “Wait! Joey,” Father Dom cautioned. “What if I attempt to do the same thing with Susana? Without you going to Barcelona.”

  “What makes you think Susana will talk to you?”

  “I could ask the same about Sofia talking to you. She knows who you are by now. You might waste a trip and a lot of money without any assurance that it will accomplish anything. Right?”

  “The difference is Susana is suing us, and because of that, she might refuse to talk. Whereas, Sofia is not suing us.”

  “Give me a day. I’ll show up at her office tomorrow morning. If it doesn’t work, then you fly to Barcelona. It’ll only hold you up a day.”

  I had to admit that Dom was making a lot of sense. I really had no logical argument to combat his plan. I still felt Sofia was our best target, sensing that it was her who controlled her sister and her who came up with the scheme to take over the Wetherly Stevens fortunes. Or, like Adam, was I subconsciously trying to let Eve, in the form of Sofia, tempt me?

  “Fine Dom. I can’t argue with the plan. Agnes, make reservations for tomorrow for me to take the same flight. If Dom has any success, we can cancel. Otherwise, we proceed.”

  38

  Marcy was not a happy camper after I explained what my plan was. She was hopeful that Dom could extract the same clues from Susana and have me avoid Barcelona altogether.

  We ordered in from Vinnies,’ whose special tonight was the best meatballs on the planet, with spaghetti and plenty of gravy. During our dinner, Marcy she had this glow on her face. And, after passing on the Caymus bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, I knew. We had to be pregnant! Even though I was relatively sure, I wanted to let her tell me on her own terms. If I was right, though? Well, we’ve had so many trials in our lives that we deserved our slice of happiness. Both our lives had been in danger, several times. While with the NYPD, I’d been shot by an active shooter in an office building. Marcy had been shot by terrorists on a plane at La Guardia. For that, she had been hailed as a hero for stopping a potential massacre. But soon after that, she was kidnapped by a deranged serial killer who had fallen in love with her. We needed a healthy and happy life. And right now, that happiness was our reasonably new marriage being blessed with a child. I was excited at the idea of a junior Joey or Marcy, although I’m sure we’d pick different names when the time came.

  Dom showed up at nine in the morning at the offices of Wetherly Stevens. He left on his white collar. He never wanted to take advantage of his religious affiliation, but since these people already knew who we all were, he allowed his “uniform” to assist if it could.

  “Hi, I’m Dominic O’Brian. I don’t have an appointment, but I was wondering if I could see Mrs. Wetherly for a few minutes,” he said as he approached the reception desk.

  “Yes, Father. Have a seat, and I’ll see if she can see you,” the receptionist replied.

  Dom sat in the reception area as the young lady made a call.

  The young lady told Dom to wait a few minutes, and Mrs. Wetherly would meet with him.

  At twenty past nine, Susana Wetherly walked out to greet Dom.

  “Father O’Brian, this is highly unusual for us to meet. I spoke to my attorney, Mr. Cohen, and he forbids me to discuss our lawsuit against your company.”

  “That’s good advice, and quite understandable. However, I’m not here to discuss the lawsuit. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “In that case, follow me,” she said, turning around and walking into her office. Susana sat behind her desk and pointed for Dom to sit in front of her. “Forgive me if I look at the screen while we talk. The stock market has been very volatile, and I have many trades in the works that I need to keep an eye on.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Now, what could I possibly help you with?” she asked, momentarily making eye contact with him.
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  “The NYPD has reopened a cold case, and we’re consulting with them on it.”

  “Which case is that?”

  “The murder of Paolo Mancuso.”

  Susana quickly glanced away from her computer monitors to look at Dom. “That’s your brother Joey Mancuso’s family member?” she asked. Dom was watching intently, but Susana didn’t have a visible tell in her body language.

  “His father.”

  “And how could I possibly help you with that?”

  “He was murdered in 1997. You might remember the year. It was the same year you joined the firm and married Thomas Wetherly.”

  “It’s also the same year that the Green Bay Packers defeated the Patriots in the Super Bowl. I don’t see how any of those events have anything to do with the case.”

  “Do you know Charles Maestro?”

  She smiled, this time with hint of nervousness. She paused for a few seconds, thinking. “Yes, I know Charles.”

  Dom went in a different direction. “There was a case back in 1996 and 1997, in which this firm was under suspicion of having ties with organized crime. Do you remember that? It happened just as you were joining the firm.”

  “I do, as a matter of fact. It almost closed this firm. But, I also remember the case was dropped for lack of proof,” she replied, not taking her eyes off the monitors on her desk.

  “Did you know Charles Maestro back then?”

  “Possibly. What dots are you trying to connect, Father O’Brian? Why don’t you get to the point.” She stared squarely at Dom’s face.

  “We think there’s a connection between Maestro, organized crime, the murders of an FBI agent and Paolo Mancuso. A connection which may threaten the company you’re about to inherit. Unless you can help us.”

  “Help you do what? If you had any proof, you wouldn’t be talking to me.”

  “We believe you and Mrs. Stevens can help solve this case, and by doing so, you’ll protect your inheritances.”

  “In other words, you don’t think that Sofia and I are involved. Then, who? Stevens, Wetherly, and Maestro? You expect us to drop a dime on them, which assumes we know about some illicit dealings? Is that what you’re after?”

  “Look, we don’t think either one of you is involved. But, you’re about to lose everything you’ve worked for in the last twenty years. If this plays out without your help, you can go down as a coconspirator.”

  “We’re done here, Father. You know what happens when you go fishing without bait? You don’t catch anything. Neither Sofia nor I, know anything about the murder of Paolo Mancuso or this fictional account of illicit dealings with organized crime. By the way, tell your brother I look forward to our day in court. What he did, entrapping my son, was vicious and unprofessional. Please let yourself out.”

  “I’ll leave my card in case you want to call me. Think about what I’ve said. Thank you for your time.” Father Dominic got up and walked toward the elevators.

  It was eleven when Dom called me. “Tell me, brother, how did it go?” I asked as I answered his call.

  “I laid it all out, as we discussed. She’s a cool operator. Claims to know nothing. The only thing I did not admit to knowing is that they’re sisters. Didn’t think that was necessary.”

  “You told her about Maestro, organized crime, Paolo Mancuso, everything?”

  “Everything we discussed. And nothing. She says we’re fishing without bait.”

  “And, unfortunately, she’s right. Maybe her sister can see the big picture with more clarity. I guess I’m headed to Barcelona.”

  “Hope you have better luck.”

  “Hey brother, your idea was good. We tried. Are you coming to the pub?”

  “No. I’m headed back to Saint Helen's. Need to meet with a new priest who’s taking over my old duties.”

  “Love you, bro, I’ll call you from Barcelona.”

  39

  I tried my routine again. A smile, a wink, and a hundred-dollar bill, and I was able to finagle my way into business class. A book about our first case had recently been published, and it’d sold very well so far. A Murder on Wall Street had just been released as an audiobook, and I was excited to start listening to it from the comfort of my full leather seat.

  Octavio Cardona, my driver, amateur psychologist, and recently crowned member of the Mancuso and O’Brian investigative team in Barcelona, was waiting for me.

  “Welcome back, Señor Joey. Unfinished business?”

  “All good, all good, and yes.”

  “Are you staying at the Barcelona NH Hotel, again?”

  “Yes, that was a good hotel. And, not as expensive as the W.”

  “Are we going to be following anyone today?”

  “No. Let me check in, and I’ll make a call. After that, I’ll let you know my next move. Can you hang around until I know?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  We arrived at the hotel, valet parked, and Octavio came in with me. It was early morning, and my room was not ready, so I checked in and looked for a comfortable spot to sit, only finding an uncomfortable looking red sofa. Octavio and I opted to go upstairs to the terrace to make my call. From our prior observation, I knew my target, Mrs. Sofia Puig de Stevens, would leave her home around eleven in the morning. I decided to wait until ten to call her. In the meantime, we ordered coffees and chocolate croissants.

  Promptly at ten, I dialed Sofia’s cell number.

  “Well, well. Who is this? Mr. Perego, the journalist, or Mr. Mancuso, the detective?”

  “Hi, Mrs. Stevens, this is Joey Mancuso.”

  “So formal. I thought we were on a first-name basis. Oh wait, I was—with Carlo Perego. I guess things have changed. What is it that you want? Another game?”

  “I’m in Barcelona, and I was wondering if we could meet and talk?”

  “Why would I want to meet with you, Mancuso? You came into my life under false pretenses. I offered myself to you, and you rejected me. My husband and I brought you into our home, befriended you, and you lied to us. I hope you didn’t come to Barcelona just to meet with me. You should have called before you made the trip.”

  “Perhaps I should have started the conversation with an apology. Is it too late for that?” I asked, looking at Octavio and raising my shoulders.

  “You intrigue me, Mancuso. Are you apologizing now?”

  “I’m sorry for how things developed, and I appreciate both you and your husband inviting me into your home.”

  “I see. Is Mancuso more of an adventurer than Perego was?”

  I knew where she was going with this, and I had to play the game. “Mancuso is a risk taker.”

  “Oh really? We’ll see about that. What is it that you want to talk about?”

  I could sense an opening. “It has to do with your future.”

  “Did I say you intrigue me? Are you a psychic? Or, are you going to pretend to be a fortune-teller this time around?”

  “No, not a psychic. However, I have a feeling that I can predict your future.”

  “Well, I can’t pass that up, can I? Are you staying at the NH Hotel?”

  “Yes, but I thought we could meet elsewhere.”

  “We can meet at two in the afternoon. Text me your room number, and we’ll order room service.”

  “I—” I began.

  “You came all the way here to talk to me, so there must be something you really want from me. I, in turn, still want something from you. Have you ever heard the song, “Give a Little, Take a Little? See you at two, Joey Mancuso.”

  “You’re meeting Señora Sofia?” Octavio asked.

  “Yes, at two this afternoon.”

  “Did you meet her sister in New York?”

  “Not officially.”

  “She’s a redhead also?”

  “Ah, no. She’s not. Good-looking though.”

  “You think they’re involved in your father’s murder?”

  “We have six persons who we think may have had something to do with it. I’v
e discarded Mr. Stevens’s partner Mr. Wetherly. However, I’m putting him back into the mix.”

  “But the sisters, you think they had something to do with it?”

  “I have rules. Rule number two is ‘Everyone is a suspect until they’re not.’ So, the sisters are in at the moment.”

  “Okay, but I have to ask,” he said, smiling.

  “About rule number one?”

  Octavio nodded.

  “I work for the victim. That’s rule number one.”

  “And this time, your victim is a very special person.”

  “Yes, he is. This time is personal, very personal. And it’s been twenty years. It’s time someone pays.”

  “Did you consider the questions I asked last time?”

  “You mean your psychoanalysis of me?”

  Octavio laughed. “Yes.”

  “Your first question was if I was trying to make up for my dad’s misdeeds.”

  “And?”

  “The quick answer is yes. As I thought about it, I realized that after I decided to go on the straight and narrow, I felt guilty for what I knew he did. And for what I imagined he had done. Indirectly, my gusto in bringing the guilty to justice was motivated by his crimes. I guess every time I solved one, I was erasing one of his.”

  “You realized this only after we spoke?”

  I clasped my hands, lowered my head, and thought about that. “I think I knew it internally,” I said, touching my chest, “but I never verbalized it. You know. Never spoke about it.”

  “Good. What about the second question I asked? Are you running to or from something?” Octavio asked.

  I took the last sip of my now cold coffee and leaning forward. “I must say, again, that you’re very perceptive. To be honest, I’ve never consciously considered any of your questions, or even spoken to anyone else about my feelings on these issues.”

  “You have now?”

  “Yes, with my wife and my brother. For the longest time, I think I’ve been running from my dad’s past. However, since Marcy and I got engaged, and then married, I believe I’m running toward something.”