by Owen Parr
“There’s more. The small bumper in the cycle driven by Wells had a smiley face bumper sticker on it. Like the emoji. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know the emoji,” I said as a white-coated doctor walked by me and nodded.
“Evidently, when the Nissan hit the cycle’s bumper, part of it got ripped off and stuck to the bumper of the car. I had pictures of both the cycle and the car sent to me.”
What were the chances of that? This was uncontroversial proof of the encounter between both vehicles.
“That’s great, JC. I’m going to put on Detective Logan from MBPD so you guys can coordinate the rest of this mess. Plus, I can provide you with likely proof that the two goons who kidnapped Jack, my friend, are the guys who killed James. At least they were the trigger. I’m still working on the person who ordered the hit.”
“You’re the man, Mancuso! Keep me posted on that.”
“Have you identified these two men?” I asked.
“No prints on file. No IDs on them. Only tattoos that may be from gang marking in East Europe.”
“That ties in with what we’re thinking.”
“You think the perp that ordered this is local?”
No, the perp was gone. Flew away to establish an alibi. But I would be right behind him.
“No, brother, I’m going to New York to work on it. My wife, who’s FBI, is working on another case related to the same person. It seems it all ties in. I’ll keep you posted for sure, and thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Put Detective Logan on.”
I walked back into Jack’s room, ready to hand Logan the phone, but I had an idea. “Hang on a second, I just had a light go on. It would give me more power if I was consulting for the NYPD. How about I give you Captain Johnson’s phone number and you ask him to put me on the case? He and I are personal friends and I’ve been consulting for his homicide division for a while. What’d you think?”
“I think that’s a no-brainer. Happy to call. Text me his full name and number, I’ll make it happen.”
I handed the phone to Logan as Jack asked, “You’re going to New York?”
“I’m going to wait until they release you from the hospital. Then, I’m going back home to work on the Bobal case,” I replied as I texted Moreno.
“With Marcy?”
I paused. “Ah, no. The FBI doesn’t appreciate my methods and I don’t want to get Marcy fired or transferred somewhere. She’s working on the white-collar crime angle of it. I want to finish the murder investigation.”
“You think Captain Johnson will want to pursue the Bobal case?” Jack asked.
I cocked an eyebrow. “He owes us, remember?”
“Max and I are going to miss you,” Jack said, moaning as he turned to the side. “Are you going back to the Easy Ryder?”
“I have no other place to sleep. And yes, I’ll take care of Max’s walk and his necessities. Isn’t dog crap like a fertilizer? Why pick it up?” Really, it was just a bother, and it was kind of disgusting.
“Good to go on Gene and James,” Logan chimed in as he hung up with Moreno. “Here’s your phone.”
I accepted it as he held it out to me. “You and Detective Moreno all squared on those?”
“Yes, pending your end on Bobal. He’s probably good for both murders, right?” asked Logan.
I nodded, crossing my arms. “I believe so. So, you’re not following up on the slick lawyer, Scarpelli, or the neighbor, Hernandez?”
“Not unless you learn something different from Bobal,” Logan replied.
“Understood. I’m taking off in a minute. First, I want to stop by Jack’s office and pick up the third Snickers wrapper. Then, you want to meet for stone crabs at Joe’s on Miami Beach?” I asked.
“I have a better idea,” Logan replied. “They have a take-out service. How about we buy there and meet at the Easy Ryder for dinner? We can sit back on the deck and watch the sunset.”
“You guys are killing me. Stone crabs and beers on my boat. And I have to eat this shit here?” Jack complained.
I smiled. “I filled out your menu for dinner. You’re getting sodium-free, watered-down chicken soup. Plastic spaghetti with sodium-free mystery sauce, apple sauce, and green gelatin. Plus, apple juice and caffeine-free coffee. But I did ask for extra gluten.”
A stunning lady with golden skin walked in, and her incredible bright emerald-green eyes reminded me of Marcy.
Logan smiled warmly at the newcomer. “Joey, meet my sister, Odette.”
After a few pleasantries, I said goodbye to Jack, who was now only paying attention to Odette. And as Logan walked me out, I said, “Now I know why he broke his rule about expiration dates. By the way, I’ll buy the stone crabs if you take Max out for his walk.”
“You got a deal. See you in a few,” replied Logan.
I felt like we had accomplished a partial resolution to two murders and now it was up to me to tie the knots and implicate Bobal. Marcy and the Bureau would handle the white-crime connection and I would handle the murders. Jack was going to recover, and it seemed his short-term memory wouldn't be an issue. I was relieved that Jack would recover without any lingering effects that my actions could have caused. From the moment I concocted the rescue and sped after him, I worried for having put him in harm’s way. Now, I needed to find the offender and find closure and satisfaction for all the family members of the victims.
19
Joey Mancuso ~
Dinner was enjoyable last night, and the Miami weather and scenery were, as always, tranquil and much like a sedative. But after hearing from Jack that Odette was going to nurse him back to health by staying onboard for a while, I got the hidden message and decided to fly back to New York.
We all felt good that we had uncovered the persons who killed James and Gene. Yes, the pair of foreign goons, who we proved beyond a doubt after prints we found on the Snickers wrapper matched one of them, killed James and left him in the everglades to be devoured by alligators.
How could anyone do that? And to stay and watch. Sick! But who ordered the hit? And James, who murdered Gene via a hit-and-run, had the means, the opportunity, and the motive. The motive, we felt sure, was the exchange from Bobal to pay off the defaulted mortgage on James' mother’s home. So, was Jan Bobal and his partners behind these murders to cover up their illicit stock market gains?
That was my next assignment.
I arrived at Kennedy Airport at noon and took an Uber home. Marcy had texted me during the flight, saying she wouldn't be able to pick me up, but that she would be home early. The second half of the text read: I have a lot to tell you.
I was tired, and although I wanted to put a plan together with my team to begin our Bobal investigation, I needed a nap. The bed in the stateroom on the Easy Ryder was fine, but the mattress was as thin as a slice of white bread, and my back was asking for a comfortable rest. So, that was exactly what I did. I jumped in bed and took a nap.
When Marcy walked in, I was in a deep sleep. She cuddled up next to me and woke me up with a warm kiss to my forehead. It had been a few days since we last saw each other, so we made up for lost time during the next two hours without much conversation.
“What time is it?” I asked, getting up to take a shower.
“It’s six in the evening,” she replied as she brushed her hair in front of the mirror. “I ordered from Vinnies’. I hope that’s okay with you.”
“As long as it’s not fried food or ribs, I’m okay with it." I grimaced at the thought. "I had enough of that on the Easy Ryder.”
“I don’t know what we’re getting. Signor Vinnie said he’ll send tonight’s specials for us. I opened a bottle of pinot noir for you. Help yourself.”
Vinnie’s was a neighborhood restaurant in Brooklyn. Originally, a wise guy gathering place owned by Vinnie Sparano, a good old paisan. Vinnie had been a good friend of my dad, and I had some wonderful childhood memories of going to the restaurant. Just like in the old days, he didn't have a
menu, but he had daily specials and served everything family-style. I was looking forward to tonight’s delivery.
I filled half a glass of the wine and proceeded to take a long shower. Afterward, I refilled the glass and went to the living room, where Marcy was listening to some classical music. Vivaldi’s "Concerto for Violins, Strings, and Harpsichord in G minor" to be exact.
“I’ve been curious about your text with the frowning emoji,” I said as I sat in my easy chair and placed the glass of wine on the table next to me.
Immediately, her mood changed. She frowned like a baby tasting cream of spinach for the first time and shook her head. Sitting up, she began, “About that. All hell broke loose when I started making calls about Jan Bobal and his company.”
I frowned. “What d'you mean?”
“Well, Victoria got a call from the FBI Director. He wanted us to cease and desist any investigation.” Victoria was Marcy's boss.
"Why?” I was dumbfounded. What was the point of the white-collar crime division if it wasn't to investigate?
“It seems both State and DOJ don’t want us looking into this.”
“Because they’re doing it themselves?”
“Not really. The State Department doesn’t want to ruffle any feathers with the Czech Republic currently. And, the DOJ was very clear about the FBI not meddling into this. Victoria even had a call from a New York senator inquiring about it.”
This whole thing was looking nuttier than a cashew factory.
“The Czechs have a major organized crime group that's involved in a plethora of worldwide atrocities in their backyard, and State is worried about ruffling feathers?" I rolled my eyes. Of course, they didn't want to get involved. "And, did you say a US senator called? Huh, I wonder why. Who was the senator?”
Marcy shrugged. "I didn’t ask. But Victoria was told the Czech government is handling it. To leave it up to them.”
“But it's no longer just in the Czech Republic. It’s right here in New York City and other parts of the US. Plus, other countries. Unless they’re about to make a major bust, I don’t see the logic behind this.”
This reminded me of a quote I once read and always remembered by Honore de Balzac: "Bureaucracy is a giant mechanism operated by pygmies."
Marcy sighed. “I’m getting tired of the bureaucracy like you did when you work for the NYPD. It's all too political.”
Our doorbell rang with our food delivery and we both got up to deal with it. We tipped the delivery person. Vinnie had added our bill to our tab.
“You want to eat now? It’s still hot,” Marcy said as we moved to the kitchen.
I considered that. “I'd rather wait a while, unless you’re hungry.”
“That’s fine, I kinda lost my appetite,” Marcy replied.
As we sat back in the living room, I said, “There’s always room for you to join us in the private sector. With your FBI experience, we can add another facet to our investigation services. We’ll call ourselves Mancuso, O’Brian, and Martinez Investigations.” I kind of liked the sound of that.
Marcy looked at me and smiled. “I might take you up on that offer. Let me know when you want to eat.”
“What did Vinnie send us?”
“To start, he sent us an antipasti e pasta fagioli zuppe. To be followed by osso buco e risotto con funghi. Va bene?” she asked.
“Prego. Now I’m getting hungry. Your Italian is getting better every day.”
She smirked. “I wish I could say the same about your Spanish.”
“Hah." What could I say? I tried, but it just didn't come naturally to me. "Anyway, back to the case. Your FBI may not be getting involved in this, but I am. I can’t let Bobal get away with two murders. I don’t care about the organized crime aspect of this. He has to answer for Gene and James.”
“Okay, here we go again. Whoever is pushing back on this will know you're not standing down. So, guess who’s going to get flack?” She gave me a pointed look.
“You are, and I’m sorry about that. But I’m a private citizen and they can’t tell me what to do. Capire?” Well, they could try to tell me what to do, but it wasn't like I'd listen.
She huffed. “I do understand, but I think you might precipitate my retirement from the Bureau.”
I went quiet for a minute, thinking about my actions and the effect they might have on Marcy. It was a conundrum I felt uncomfortable about. This wasn’t the first time I put Marcy in the crosshairs of the FBI leadership because of my actions. But what was I to do? I had to follow my leads wherever they took me. Was I about to sacrifice my wife’s career for the pursuit of justice?
After a couple of minutes of silence, Marcy added, “Look, you do what you need to do. I know you can’t stand two unsolved murders. Whatever happens, happens, right? And I’m serious, maybe it’s time I hang up my special agent’s shield.”
I moved over to the sofa and grabbed her hand. “Thank you. I’m sorry to put you in this position. But I’m glad you understand.”
Marcy leaned over to kiss me. “Bring your wine and leave your whine behind. I’m hungry.”
I was relieved, but deep down, I knew she was worried.
We sat in our new dining room, enjoying a partial view of the East River. We hadn’t been in our new two-bedroom apartment long and were looking forward to little Mancuso running around our new place.
“Tell me about your plan,” Marcy said as we finished with the antipasto and were starting with the soup.
I was more than halfway to finishing the pinot noir bottle and felt a tad silly, so I replied, “My plan is to make love to you again tonight. Again and again.”
She laughed. “It’s better to under-promise and over-deliver, than over-promise and under-deliver. Seriously, do you have plan?”
I blinked. That was my plan. But if she wanted a more concrete one, fine. “My plan is to meet with the group and brainstorm tomorrow. It’s what we do. I'd like the input from Father Dom, Agnes, and Mr. Pat. I’m sure Bobal and company are going about their business. We're in earnings reporting season and that’s when they get busy with their trades. I doubt we can go in there and start questioning them this week.”
“Too bad you don’t have a client.”
I hummed. “Captain Johnson is getting a call for me to pursue the Bobal case. So, I’m NYPD payroll."
“All right. Just keep me posted so I know when to expect the shitstorm to rain on me at the Bureau.”
Taking the last spoonful of my pasta e fagioli, I said, “One thing I need to know, though, is the name of the senator that called. I’m curious as to why they called.” Why was a US senator involved in this? Granted, many politicians answered to lobbyists instead of the constituents. But would they go to the extent of covering up a crime?
Marcy looked up suddenly. “By the way, did Goldstein ever call you back about the murder case?”
“No. But, she did text me that we’re in line for her next case. Things were happening too fast and she had no time to wait. Frankly, with everything that’s happening, I wouldn’t have too much time to dedicate to her case. So, it kinda worked out.”
I wasn’t too concern about losing that case. My mind was on Bobal and wrapping up this case. What was the angle with the senator, and who were they protecting?
20
Joey Mancuso ~
I was glad to be back among my crew and the familiar surroundings of the pub. Back to my routine, my cigars, and my espresso machine. We had work to do, and I was anxious to get started.
Father Dom walked in the office where I was reviewing my notes. “Hey, Padre, I’m happy to see your smiley face. How are those sinners of yours?”
Father Dom beamed. “All’s good. I understand you had quite the adventure in Miami.”
“I did, and I’m glad that part is over. Let’s wait for Agnes and Patrick to join us. I want to plan our next steps.”
“Whatever happened to the Goldstein case, the murder?” Dom sat down at his desk.
I spu
n around in my seat. “Good news, bad news on that. The bad is we didn’t get it. She couldn’t wait for us. The good is she said we get the next case. I think that works out best.”
We sat at our respective desks facing each other and read the newspaper, waiting for the rest of the crew. One by one, Agnes, Patrick, and the duo of detectives, Larry and Harry, walked in. Both these guys were inherited from the Bevans and Associates law firm when we became the exclusive investigative services for them. That was before we incriminated one of their best client’s son in a multiple murder investigation and the firm’s partners put us on the shitlist. We always had smaller cases requesting our services, and these two guys handled most of them very well.
“If everyone has their coffee, let’s move to the conference table. I want to discuss our next moves,” I said, moving over to the table.
I brought everyone up to date on what had occurred in Miami. The incidents surrounding the murders, together with Jack and detective Robert Logan’s involvement. From the corner of my eye, I could see Dom shaking his head as I recounted the chase in Alligator Alley and the resulting PIT maneuver. I purposely avoided eye contact with big brother, thus avoiding his scolding, even if it was well deserved.
Patrick, noting Dom’s reaction, spoke first. “So, Joey, you want to go after this Jan Bobal person?”
“Like I said, I think Bobal ordered the hits on Gene, James, and Jack. Everything points to him. Proving it is another story since the two goons or triggers died on the scene,” I said, finishing my coffee.
Everyone thought for a minute without commentary.
“Time for a morning cigar, Joey,” Patrick suggested.
“How about a shorty Gurkha, Mr. Pat?”
Patrick stood. “On it. I’ll turn on the exhaust system while at it.”
“Should we question him separately, like we like to do?” asked Dom.
Our style was always to question suspects separately. A suspect who lied usually couldn't repeat the same story twice. Whereas, one who didn't could repeat the same story and even enhance the details as he remembered more about it.