by J. L. Abramo
“Good, you can quit for the day as soon as I return. We’ll plan to eat at seven.”
“I’ll bring wine,” says Sully.
“Very good,” says Joe Campo.
Samson checks in with Murphy at five-thirty.
“Did I miss anything?” he asks.
“A woman on West Street knocked her husband out of a sixth-floor window with a Proctor Wrinkle Master. We had to call in the SWAT Team.”
“The husband die?”
“Oh, yeah. At least once.”
“Anyone else hurt?”
“One of the SWAT guys took it on chin. An electric wok. He’ll be okay. Lou split. I’m out of here at six.”
“I’ll be in tomorrow,” says Samson.
“I won’t be. So have a nice day, bro,” says Murphy.
“God bless you, Sully, you look wonderful,” says old man Levine.
“Thanks. I feel wonderful.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I need a very good bottle of Chianti, Sol,” says Sully. “If I can pay you next week.”
Levine walks out from behind the counter and takes a bottle from the shelf. He slips it into a long paper bag.
“The wine is on me,” says Levine, handing it to Sully. “A gift.”
“Why?”
“Just look at yourself, Sully,” the old man says. “It’s the least I can do. You’ve made my day.”
Murphy finds a parking spot in front of his building. There are plenty of empty spaces on a Saturday at dinner time. Other people go out.
He stops in for takeout food before going up.
“I went with spare ribs, shrimp with lobster sauce and cold sesame noodles,” Murphy announces as he walks into the apartment. “If you don’t like the menu you can eat Alpo.”
The length of Ralph’s tongue says that spare ribs will be fine.
Gabriel sits in the Oldsmobile. It is parked on the corner, across from the Territo house, where he had left it parked the night before.
A flashy, bright red Camaro pulls up in front of the house. The car horn blasts three times.
Brenda Territo blots her lipstick and grabs her coat. She is almost out the door of her room when she remembers her ring. A gift from her father for her sixteenth birthday. She runs back to her dresser and slips the sapphire onto her finger. She turns off the lights and heads down.
Gabriel sees the lights go off, and a minute later the girl is out on the front porch. As she locks the door, an idea comes to him.
Brenda skips down the steps and out of the gate. She hops into the Camaro. The car speeds away.
Gabriel waits a few minutes before climbing out of the Oldsmobile. He moves slowly to the front gate, glancing up and down Shore Road as he walks. At the gate, he pulls out a ring of keys. He finds a key that he had used at his job, when he had a job. He can’t think of why he had saved it.
Gabriel manages to partially work the key into the lock. He snaps it off and returns to his car.
And he waits.
The last of the guests are gone soon after eleven. Dominic Colletti had invited a small group of friends and family to celebrate his son’s birthday at the house in Manhattan Beach. Only Sammy Leone and Colletti’s two boys remain, and Dominic’s sister-in-law collecting empty plates and glasses.
“Carmella, stop already. I pay a cleaning girl good money for that. Richard, please, drive your Aunt Carmella home,” says Colletti.
Dominic is afraid that if she asks one more time about Bobby Hoyle he will tear her tongue out.
Richie Colletti looks at the 24-carat gold Rolex, the birthday gift from his father. He was expecting a BMW.
“Why can’t Sonny drive her home?” Richie asks, knowing that the old hag would say something about the car if he had to take her home in his three-year-old Chrysler.
“I need Sonny for something else,” says Colletti. “Now go. Find your aunt’s coat. Carmella, I beg you, put those plates down.”
When Richie finally gets the woman into her coat and out the door, Dominic turns his attention to Sonny.
“I need you to give Sammy a ride over to Bay Ridge,” he tells his son.
“Sure, Pop, what’s up?”
“It is time to settle with Tony Territo. It broke my heart seeing how disappointed Richie was tonight.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Sammy is doing, you are driving, go,” says Colletti. “Sammy is waiting out front.”
Sonny goes out to his Porsche and finds Leone standing at the passenger door. Sammy is holding a large shotgun.
“Jesus, Sammy, what the hell is that for?”
“We’re going to do a little bodywork on a certain BMW coupe,” says Leone.
They climb into the Camaro after leaving the Fortway Theater.
“Damn it, Jason. I couldn’t even watch the movie, fighting to get your hands off me the whole time,” says Brenda. “Please take me home.”
The boy pulls the Camaro away from the curb and heads toward Shore Road, confused. Everything he had heard about Brenda Territo had convinced him that she was a sure thing.
Ten minutes later, in front of Brenda’s house, Jason gives it one more try.
“I told you that you can’t come in, Jason,” Brenda says. “You don’t know my father; he’ll have the house checked for fingerprints when he gets back.”
Jason ignores her and puts his hand on her bare knee.
Brenda slaps his hand and jumps out of the car.
“C’mon, Brenda, get back in the car. Let’s just sit for a while,” he says. “I promise I’ll behave.”
“Go home and take a cold shower, Jason. Call me when you cool down.”
“Brenda.”
“Goodnight,” she says, slamming the car door.
“Bitch,” he says under his breath as he punches the gas pedal.
Gabriel hears the Camaro peel away and sees the girl stand watching as the car tears off. He had crossed to the corner of the house when they had arrived, and stood there with the crowbar in his hand. Gabriel starts toward the girl as she moves to the gate.
Two blocks down on Shore Road, Jason pounds on the brake pedal.
“Fucking girls, shit,” he mutters, making a reckless U-turn back toward the Territo house.
Brenda is struggling with her key. She checks to make sure it’s the right one.
“Fuck,” she says, loudly.
Her voice startles Gabriel and he misses his mark. The pry bar strikes her in the neck and shoulder.
Brenda falls heavily to the ground. Gabriel gets down beside her; he can’t tell if she is alive.
The Camaro jumps the curb and screeches to a stop, inches from Gabriel and the girl.
“What the fuck!” Jason yells, as he jumps out of the car.
When the boy reaches the front of the vehicle, Gabriel lands a violent blow with the iron bar to Jason’s knee. The boy goes down, holding the leg, screaming in pain.
In the light of the Camaro’s headlamps, Gabriel sees the sparkle in the girl’s sapphire ring. A glowing star. The boy is crying out for help. Gabriel pulls the ring from the girl’s finger and runs for the Oldsmobile.
“Turn onto 82nd Street and stop at the side entrance. They’re out of town, but Territo was nice enough to leave the Beemer out in the driveway,” says Sammy Leone. “When I’m done, it’s going to look like Swiss cheese.”
As they approach the corner of 82nd Street, a large car suddenly backs out onto Shore Road. Sonny Colletti brakes just in time. The Oldsmobile speeds away.
“Fucking maniac,” yells Sammy Leone.
“What’s going on here?” say Sonny, driving up to the Camaro.
They can now hear the boy screaming.
Sonny gets out of the Porsche and moves toward the two bodies on the ground.
“Sonny, get the fuck back here,” yells Leone.
“These kids are hurt.”
“And if the cops find us here with this shotgun, we’re fucked. Let’s go.”
/> Sonny stands glued to the spot.
“Sonny,” Leone yells again, at the top of his voice.
A light comes on, in front of the neighboring house. Sonny Colletti rushes back to his car and jumps behind the wheel. He throws the Porsche into gear and races off.
Jason is still screaming when the first patrol car rolls up to the scene.
The bell in the tower at St. Anselm’s strikes twelve times, ringing in a new day in the Borough of Churches.
PART THREE
A BLOT ON THE LANDSCAPE
From the middle of the building an ugly flat-topped octagonal tower ascended against the east horizon, and viewed from this spot, on its shady side and against the light, it seemed to be the one blot on the city’s beauty. Yet it was with this blot, and not with the beauty, that the gazers were concerned.
—Thomas Hardy
TWENTY ONE
Sunday morning. Murphy has the day off.
He starts his day as usual, the three-mile run with Ralph. They begin their run at eight on Sunday mornings, two hours later than their weekday jogs.
The last quarter mile back to Murphy’s apartment is taken at a brisk walk, allowing both man and man’s best friend to wind down and resume normal breathing by the time they reach home.
The routine rarely changes, and ends with the three-flight climb to the apartment and four eggs shared equally between them. Murphy’s scrambled, well. Ralph’s sunny-side up. The difference this morning is that someone is in the apartment when they return, and they both feel it as they reach the door designated 4B.
There are many ways to react, and Murphy knows them all, has used them all. Go down and call for backup. Go in fast and low. Stand ready and wait in the hallway for someone to come out. Murphy and Ralph look at each other as if helping each other decide.
Then Murphy knocks on the door.
“It’s open, come in,” calls a voice from inside.
“You should stay home this morning, Sam,” says Alicia, “until you feel a little better.”
Samson had been up all night with stomach cramps and nausea.
“Do you think it was something I ate?”
“I think it has to do with what that poor girl ate, poisoned Valentine candy,” says Alicia, “and this case you’re working on, the two murdered boys. It would make anyone sick to his stomach.”
“I’ll call Lou, see if he can cover for me. At least for a few hours.”
“Want a couple of eggs?” asks Murphy, as he and Ralph walk into the kitchen.
“How about French toast?” asks the younger man at the card table, which served as the dining table when it wasn’t surrounded by very serious poker players.
“This isn’t the fucking House of Pancakes, get your feet off the table and what the fuck are you doing here anyway?” says Murphy.
Ralph adds something unintelligible.
“I’ve got a problem.”
“You’ve always got a problem, and you could have at least started the coffee.”
“This is serious, Tommy.”
“Listen, Michael, the only thing serious about you is that you are a serious fuck-up. I told you to keep your nose clean or stay the fuck away from me. I’m not bailing you out of trouble again. And if you get far enough out of line, I swear I’ll take you in.”
“Cop talk.”
“That’s what I am Mike, a cop. What the fuck are you?”
“Your brother.”
“Don’t rub it in. And it’s not enough reason to put up with your bullshit.”
“Mom thinks it’s enough. Dad would think so.”
“Keep them out of this because you’re just going to piss me off. All you do for Mom is worry her. And if Dad would have lived to witness half the shit you’ve pulled, he would have kicked your ass out a long time ago.”
“Before he died, he asked me to take care of Mom.”
“I take care of Mom; you can’t take care of anything,” says Murphy, and then he takes a deep breath and tries his best to calm himself. “Look Mike, I’m getting very angry and I don’t have time for this crap. If you want to join Ralph and me for breakfast, you’re welcome. Afterwards or otherwise, get the hell out of here and don’t bother coming back unless you’ve got good news.”
“I think I might have killed a guy.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I think I killed a guy. I don’t know. I cut him a few times, but I didn’t stick around to take his pulse or nothing.”
“What the fuck happened?”
“I stopped this guy for his wallet and the guy jumps all over me. I stuck him a couple of times to get him off me and I ran.”
“And you didn’t call it in?”
“I’m telling you.”
“And you leave him to die, you fuck. What time was it?”
“About two this morning. I didn’t know what to do. I’ve been walking around all night. The fucking guy was about sixty fucking years old. He shocked the shit out of me. What happened to just giving it up?”
“Did he see your face?”
“I don’t know. Probably.”
“And you didn’t get his wallet.”
“No.”
“Cocksucker. You better pray that this guy is still breathing somewhere. I’m not scheduled to go in to the Precinct today. How the fuck am I going to find out if this guy turned up? I’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning to check the blotter. God fucking damn it, Mike, I should take you in right now.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Don’t tell me what I can or cannot do, Mike. I could fucking break your neck. I want you to get out of here and go home. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t talk to Mom about this. I’ll tell her you were here, but otherwise you never saw me this morning. And if you don’t stay at the house until I’m ready to decide what to do with you, I’ll find you and drag you by the fucking hair down to lock-up.”
“Tommy.”
“Don’t fucking Tommy me, just get out.”
“I’m scared.”
“Yeah, well I’m fucking terrified. How’s that?”
After cooking two eggs for Ralph and none for himself, Murphy calls his mother.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Thomas, Michael didn’t come home last night.”
First words out of her mouth. Tell me about it.
“Yeah, Mom, I know. He stayed with me. He showed up around midnight, I didn’t want to call you so late. Sorry to worry you. He’s on his way home now. Please ask him to call me as soon as he gets in, okay?”
“Is anything wrong, son?”
“No, Mom. Nothing’s wrong.”
“Are you coming for dinner this afternoon?”
“Does a bear poop in the woods?”
“Thomas.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Be there around four.”
“Bring Ralph, I’m making corned beef and cabbage.”
Oh, Christ.
“His favorite,” says Murphy. “We’ll see you at four.”
Vincent Territo sat in the corridor with his daughter-in-law and his grandson, outside of the intensive care unit at Victory Memorial Hospital. Vincent had been notified of the attack on his granddaughter and had made the call to Tony in Atlantic City. Vincent had waited outside of the emergency room as the doctors worked to keep Brenda alive, and then at the ICU waiting for his son.
Tony, Barbara and the boy finally arrived after four in the morning.
Brenda Territo had lost a lot of blood. She remained unconscious. The doctors were doing all they could to keep her stable with blood transfusions and antibiotics.
The question about permanent damage due to the severe blow on the neck would have to wait.
Tony Territo and his wife had been interviewed by the investigating detective after being given some time to talk with doctors and nurses.
“Do you have any idea who may have wanted to harm your daughter?” asked Andy Chen.
“What do you mean?” asked
Tony, surprised and alerted by the question. “I thought she was mugged?”
“We discovered that the lock on the front gate had been tampered with. She couldn’t get in,” said Detective Chen. “We believe that someone may have been waiting for her, may have marked her. If it weren’t for the boy, well, it could have been much worse.”
“What boy?” asked Barbara.
“Your daughter had just returned from a date with a young man. He had dropped her off in front of the house after some kind of argument and then he decided to come back to apologize. He may have saved her life.”
“What happened to the boy?” asked Tony.
“He’s here, in the hospital,” said Chen. “His kneecap was shattered by the assailant. Does the word sunny mean anything to you? Maybe a name?”
It took every muscle in Territo’s face to manufacture an ignorant look.
“No. Why?”
“The boy heard the word spoken,” said Chen. “Are you sure there’s no one you can think of who would have reason to hurt your daughter?”
“I’m sure,” said Territo. “Can we go back to Brenda now?”
“Sure,” said Chen. “I may need to speak with you again.”
“We’ll be here,” said Tony.
“I hope your daughter comes through okay,” said Chen, wondering what it was that Territo wasn’t telling.
A few hours later, Territo has found Jason’s room and waits until the boy’s parents leave for breakfast before going in. The boy repeats what he had told police. Jason had heard the word or name sunny called out, and then he saw a silver Porsche speed away.
Territo returns to his father, wife and son outside the ICU.
“Any word?” he asks.
“Not yet,” says Barbara. “My God, who would want to hurt our little girl?”
Tony and Vincent exchange a private glance.
“I don’t know,” says Tony. “I’ll be right back; I need to make a phone call.”