The Woman In Blue (Nick O'Brien Case Files)

by David G. Johnson

  “Yeah. Seems to take Rosario off the hook and land Lupo square on it.”

  “It looks bad, Nicky, but that’s not enough to convict. Abrams will have his top attorneys on this and will get that letter buried quicker than I can finish writing the brief. We need something more concrete than that.”

  “Don’t I know it? Here’s what I’m thinking. I am going to put the word out on the street that this letter showed up at Gabriella’s place. I say that it points to his partner in Boston, but leave Lupo’s name out. Then I stake out Gabriella’s place. Whoever shows up, whether it is Lupo or someone else, that’s going to be Tommy’s accomplice. I step in, nab them, and hand-deliver them to you.”

  “Nick, you going to take on this situation alone? I don’t like that idea, but you know I can’t get the police commissioner to authorize officers for a stakeout without something more than this letter to go on.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know, which is why I didn’t ask. How about this? You just say you got an anonymous tip about some possible trouble in the north part of the Bowery, and ask the commissioner to put the guys he already has in the Bowery on alert and have them stick close to the north. That way, if things go all screwy, there should be some bluecoats close enough to get to if I need help, but it doesn’t put you on the spot.”

  Jimmy smiled. “You always have an angle, don’t you, Nicky?”

  “I’d have been in the ground a long time ago without one. So what do you say?”

  “Yes, I can do that, but you be careful. Whoever has been after Marjorie means business, and don’t you go trying to take down Lupo alone. You spot trouble, you get a shout off and let the officers handle it, okay?”

  “You’re aces, Jimmy. Just aces.”

  Chapter Sixteen – Trouble in the Bowery

  (Garment District, Manhattan, NYC)

  Marjorie Dillon was tired of waiting, tired of running, and tired of hiding. The desire for life to go back to normal again burned inside her. She hopped a cab to the Lower East Side to take an afternoon to stroll the pushcart market, eat fresh bread sold by the slice, and just be with people again.

  Since the Great Depression hit, Manhattan’s Lower East Side had transformed into almost the same level of poverty-stricken slums the Bowery had. Many immigrants congregated here, and the outcasts of Europe, the Gypsies and the Jews, were by far the most populous. A late afternoon stroll on the cart-filled streets here was like a walk down a thoroughfare in the Old World, with street vendors selling everything from clothing to fresh foodstuffs to handicrafts, all from the bins of wooden push carts. Children skittered about looking for change, some dancing or singing for it, some just boldly begging, and others craftily taking what was not freely offered.

  Marjorie stopped at a bread cart, its fresh-baked smell wafting into the streets and a bucket of ice chilling a container of butter, which was two cents more. Over her shoulder she caught a glimpse of the two men from the diner the other night. The one was broad and stoutly built, and the other rail-thin and nervous. They stopped at a junk jewelry vendor a dozen or so carts to the east of her. While she stood at the bread cart waiting for her slice of the crunchy, buttery delight, they feigned preoccupation with the Gypsy jewelry, while a woman, who had to be in her eighties at least, babbled at them in some language from the old country and pushed item after item in front of them for perusal.

  Marjorie took her bread and wandered down the street toward the west, five or six carts down, and stopped at a vendor selling apples. She again paused and perused the fruit, checking back toward the east where the men had also stopped, still about a dozen carts behind her, at a vendor selling women’s scarves. The grandmother from the jewelry cart still hounded them, frantically gesturing and pointing at a handful of handmade bracelets she held. The scarf vendor now added her own flanking maneuver to the elderly pursuer, showing silk scarves in a variety of styles and colors to the two suited faux-shoppers. They continued to pretend examination of the cart’s contents, but now Marjorie knew they were focused on her.

  She quickly paid for three apples, placed them in her bag, turned, and began walking briskly westward toward the Bowery. A quick glance over her shoulder showed the men had left behind the Gypsy vendors and were following her at a quick pace, seeking to close the gap. As she headed down East Houston Street, she came to where 1st Street split off, near the edge of the Bowery. Seeing a cab stopped on 1st Street letting off a passenger, she sprinted to reach it before it pulled away. She jumped into the back of the cab, almost knocking the previous occupant to the ground as he stepped out of the back, having just paid his fare.

  “Take me to the New Yorker Hotel, right away.”

  The cabby shook his head. “No can do, lady. I’m off shift and I gotta get home now. I’m already late and my inlaws are in from out of town. Sorry.” Marjorie was frantic, checking behind and seeing the two men getting closer.

  “Please, I’ll triple your fare.”

  “Look, lady, you could pay me a C-note, and it wouldn’t do me any good because if I don’t get back home now, my wife ain’t gonna let me live long enough to spend it. Walk down to the next intersection, that’s where 1st Street intersects 1st Avenue heading north. You can find a cab there heading that way. I’d love to help, but I can’t.”

  Without wasting time arguing further, Marjorie jumped out of the cab and continued down 1st street heading west without bothering to close the back door of the cab. This didn’t endear her to the cabbie.

  “Hey, lady! What’re you doin’? Aw, for goodness sake.” The cabby put the car out of gear and got out to close the rear door himself as the two gray-clad men ran past him after the mysterious woman in blue.

  (Bowery, Manhattan, NYC)

  Man my legs are killing me. First thing I’m getting after a secretary is a car. Sitting in a comfortable ride on a stakeout is much better than burning up my walkers standing on a corner all day. It’s going to be getting dark soon, and so far, 1st Street is quiet. The new Buick is still sitting out in front of Gabriella’s house, and not so much as a postman has come near the place all day.

  All of a sudden, from the east, I catch a glimpse of someone heading this way fast. I reach for my shoulder holster when I finally spot that it’s a woman running down the street with two goombas chasing her. It’s Marjorie!

  I pull the brass police whistle from my days on the force out of my pocket and give it three long blasts as I cross the street, heading toward Marjorie. If those bluecoats Jimmy was supposed to put on alert are anywhere within a few blocks, they’ll come running at the sound of that whistle. I grab Marjorie as we both reach the intersection of 1st Street and 1st Avenue. I put myself in between her and the goons chasing her, pulling my Colt and getting ready to toss some lead in their direction.

  Whether it is the sound of the police whistle, or the sight of me standing ready to cut loose with my convincer in their direction, the two goons chasing her think better of the situation and duck into an alley before they get to 1st Avenue. As I’m checking to see that Marjorie is unhurt, two officers on foot come running down 1st Avenue toward us. They seem a bit nervous when they spot my heater, but I put it away and quickly explain the situation. They take off toward the alley after the two heavies while I walk with Marjorie back toward the west.

  “What are you doing out here, doll? I told you, it’s not safe. You should be holed up at the New Yorker until we get this whole thing figured out.” She starts leaking again.

  “Oh, Nick, I’m sorry I didn’t listen, but I just needed to feel normal again. I just needed to be around people. I’m so tired of being cooped up. Can’t you see that?”

  “Yeah, sweetheart, I can see it, but freedom won’t do you any good if you ain’t around to enjoy it. So who were those two goons anyway?”

  “I don’t know but I’m certain they have followed me before. I spotted those same two men the evening of the day I hired you. They must have been following me ever since, but this is the first chance they’ve had
to get close to me since that night. I remember feeling like I was being followed, and they left the restaurant right as I did. A group of sailors started following me with their lewd calls and were stopped at the hotel doors. Why, if those sailors hadn’t come along, those two might have gotten me then.”

  “And this is the first time you’ve been out alone since then?”

  “Why, yes. For the most part, I believe so. But this time they were so bold. I mean, it’s broad daylight.”

  “So who wants you bad enough to come at you this hard?”

  She looks indecisive, like she is struggling whether or not to tell me something big. Maybe this is it. Maybe today the dam of secrets bursts.

  “Nick, I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Oh, don’t be like that. I only met you a week ago, and you expect me to just trust you right away? Well the truth is I do trust you now. I believe those men work for Frank Scalice.”

  “Really? Frank Scalice? Why do you think that, doll?”

  “Because you are right. Tommy did do a big job, and he did it for Scalice. He was supposed to bring the diamonds back to Scalice the night I was set to meet him for dinner, but he never showed up.”

  “So you figure Scalice wants you dead? Why?”

  “Probably because he suspects I know about Tommy. He’s afraid if I get word back to Abrams that it was Scalice who sent Tommy, then Abrams will come after Scalice, and the five families won’t protect him since he went after another mafia family.”

  “So how does Scalice know about you?”

  The eyes. It’s always the eyes.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never met Scalice. I suppose someone must have put the pieces together of Tommy and me. When I showed up in New York the same time Tommy went missing, someone tipped off Scalice that I might know something. Oh, Nick, I’m scared. What do we do now?”

  She seems to believe at least part of what she’s saying, but there’s still something that ain’t coming out. I’m not likely to get it out of her standing here on the street, though.

  “Listen, doll, we’ve got to get you somewhere safe.” I wave down a northbound taxi. “Let’s get you back to the hotel and talk about it some more. Once you are all settled, I can get back to doing what I came here for. It doesn’t look like my plan is working very well anyway.”

  We climb into the cab and head for the New Yorker as dinnertime closes in. Maybe now I can finally get it all out on the table with Marjorie. Who knows, I might even tell her a thing or two.

  (Little Italy, Manhattan, NYC)

  Vinny DeLuca and Charlie Ferrano, red-faced and sweat-soaked, came piling into Lou’s Pizzeria near the northeast corner of the neighborhood known as Little Italy. It was just around dinnertime. They waded through a sea of cat-calls and mocking comments to reach a private area near the back, curtained off from the rest of the restaurant. As they pulled back the curtain, they saw Frank Scalice and Carlo Capricci sitting at the large, private table.

  CC laughed at the sight of the winded and sweaty mobsters. “What the…you two cafoni been runnin’ a marathon or somethin’? Sit down here before you pass out.”

  He returned his attention to his meal. Frank Scalice was much less amused.

  “Let me hope that your present…condition…is witness to you two just running away from the scene of a terrible accident involving a particular society dame from Boston?”

  Charlie turned pale and looked like he might pass out. Vinny looked as unconcerned as ever as he slipped silently into the booth. Charlie twitched himself into the seat beside Vinny. Vinny, as usual, was the one to speak up.

  “Not exactly.”

  Scalice turned as red as if he’d eaten a handful of hot peppers. “How, not exactly?”

  “That gumshoe showed up again just before we nabbed her near the edge of the Bowery. He was blowing a police whistle, and we beat feet into an alley. Bluecoats chased us halfway around to Little Italy before we managed to ditch ‘em. We been duckin’ them for a couple hours now. We nearly had her this time, if that Mick shamus hadn’t butted in again. So it was either wait for another chance or get into a shootout right there in the Bowery with coppers on the way, so we made the smart play.”

  Capricci inquired, “So what was this gumshoe doin’ in the Bowery?”

  Vinny answered. “I dunno. It’s like he was there waitin’. Came outta nowhere up on 1st street waving that heater and blowin’ a whistle. Like he’d been there all along.”

  Capricci looked thoughtful. “1st Street you say? DeLanz has an old flame that lives on 1st Street in the Bowery. I heard through the grapevine this morning that somebody put word out that she’s ready to spill who Tommy’s partner in Boston was. Maybe hero was there waitin’ to see if Lupo or somebody else popped up looking to close the loop.”

  Scalice smiled briefly before a worried look again overtook his face. “Good thinkin’ CC. But if Tommy talked to this skirt and she’s ready to finger his Boston partner, then who’s to say she might not also be ready to finger who Tommy was workin’ for? That’d be a really bad thing.”

  Capricci nodded. “Sure would, boss. You know, I’m thinkin’ maybe we could tie this whole thing up in a neat bow for the coppers, and get you outta the loop at the same time.”

  Scalice smiled, staring intently at Carlo. “Go on, CC. Spill it.”

  “Well you see, if everybody is already antsy about Lupo being here, and if this broad knows who Tommy was working with, and maybe even who hired him, then if she suddenly got real quiet, and I mean dead quiet, in a way that points to Lupo…”

  Scalice seized the idea and finished Carlo’s thought. “Then they nab Lupo for it, he catches the heat for the Boston job, and we are out of it clean. CC, you are a genius. I always said you was, and here you go again.”

  Vinny grinned. “So you want this skirt should have a little accident?”

  “Yeah,” Frank answered, “but it’s gotta look like Lupo. He don’t use guns, so you scramble over there later, and you make it look good. Go tonight, after dark. No bullets, but you shut her up for good. The cops should be all over Lupo for it, and I’ll be in the clear. Now get going.”

  Vinny DeLuca and Charlie Ferrano stood up to leave the table, drew the curtain behind them and started for the door.

  “Charlie,” Vinny said, “you wait for me outside, I gotta hit the head before we go.”

  He peeled off from his skinny companion and headed toward the restroom, but stopped at the pay phone just before, dropped a coin into the slot, and dialed a number.

  Come on, come on…pick up the phone…where is she?

  “Yeah, it’s me, Vinny. Listen up. Frank just gave the order for us to pay Tommy’s ex-girlfriend a visit tonight. Seems she’s about to have a fatal break-in gone wrong…Yeah, I know this could work out good…Right, we’ll be out of there by eight-thirty, then it’s all yours…You’re welcome. Got to go. Goodbye.”

  DeLuca turned and headed out the door to pick up his partner and get things ready for the business ahead.

  (The Bowery, Manhattan, NYC)

  Vincent DeLuca and Charlie Ferrano crept quietly up to the house in the Bowery. Most evenings there was little activity this far north and east after dark. As they approached the front door, DeLuca readied the crowbar he planned to use to force the door. While Charlie kept watch, Vinny slipped the crook of the crowbar in between the door and doorjamb. Charlie readied the small lead pipe in his hand, gave Vinny the nod, and with a swift, practiced motion the front door to Gabriella Rosario’s rowhouse unit popped with no more noise than a slamming door.

  The two heavies were quickly into the apartment and down the hall toward the living room. They were in so quickly, Gabriella barely had time to get off the couch. Before she could start to scream, DeLuca swung the backside of the bent end of the crowbar and caught Gabriella square in the temple, knocking her to the floor where her intended scream only emerged as a pain-filled moan.
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br />   The two thugs made quick work of the place, breaking things up to look like a struggle while making as little noise as possible. Ferrano landed three more swings at the downed Gabriella, one connecting with her shoulder, one breaking her arm, and the last connecting with the back of her head.

  Their work done, the two slipped quickly back out into the night, with DeLuca cutting off the light on their way out to make it look like Gabriella had gone to bed. As blood trickled into the blurry, dying eyes of Gabriella Rosario, she could barely make out the shadow of a figure coming toward her from the hallway leading from the front door. Had the killers come back to make sure? There was no need. Gabriella knew she was dying.

  The stranger was not one of the brutes who had broken into her home. She could barely make out that the figure was a woman in a dark-colored dress. The figure knelt beside her. Gabriella felt the woman pressing something cold and hard into her hand, but she did not have the strength to grasp it.

  “H-h-help … m-m-me…” Gabriella whispered.

  The woman patted her cheek with a gloved hand stood to leave. With a swirl of hem and a flash of blue in the dim room, illuminated only by lights from the street lamps, she was gone. Gabriella Rosario breathed her last as life slipped mercifully away from her battered and broken form.

  Chapter Seventeen – Mysterious Errands

  (Garment District, Manhattan, NYC)

  It is dinnertime and starting to get dark by the time we reach the New Yorker hotel. Marjorie seems to have composed herself, drying her eyes with lacy black gloves. We go up to her room, and she seems finally herself enough to speak.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Nick. I’ve taken you away from your work and not even left time for dinner.”

  “That’s no big deal, doll, I’ll get you settled and then grab something on the way home. Plenty of eateries around here.”