The House at Hull

by Karl Tutt

  Chapter 15

  “I think I got it.”

  His voice was exploding with excitement. Billy always got that way when there might be a breakthrough. I figured we were at least one step ahead, but he was the cop. I let him talk.

  “I think it was the girl. The Shipley daughter. It all leads to her. She romances a guy who is heir to millions. They become engaged. When he loses his family unexpectedly, she is there to provide comfort and maybe even some fleshy distractions. When probate is completed, she pays off some debts that might keep her father out of Boot Hill. Everyone lives happily ever after.”

  Eleisha and I had already been there, but Billy was thrilled that he had pieced it together all by himself. That was definitely a plus. The question was whether he had anything that would warrant an arrest, much less stand up in court.

  “We pressed our tough guys . . . found an old outstanding warrant on Carmine. We were able to scare the bastard . . . promised him lots of time upstate if he couldn’t find it in his heart to deliver just a few bits of pertinent information. Plus, we told him the .22 was a good match with the slugs pulled out of Ferrara. He was impressed. Loosened his lips considerably, but he still talked around some stuff. Probably knows that if he ends up in jail labeled as a snitch, we’ll shortly be pulling a shank out of his kidney. ”

  “So what are you gonna do?” I asked.

  “I’d like to arrest somebody, or at least arrange a little chat,” was his terse reply.

  We knew more than we did the day before, but I couldn’t see that it helped much. I needed one more good sniff to lock me into the scent of the killers. I decided to try Dom Ferrara one more time. I was sure he knew more than he was telling. He probably wouldn’t give me any damned thing, but what was one more shot in the dark? I decided to take Eleisha with me. Maybe she could distract the old man enough to get his mouth moving.

  It was early afternoon when we entered the bar. The lunch crowd had cleared and it wasn’t quite time for the regular drinkers. Around two o’clock many bar owners and restaurant managers are placing orders for food or beer for the next day. More an art than a science, but one I’ll bet the old man had down to a tee. I asked the huge sallow skinned brute behind the polished mahogany for Mr. Ferrara.

  “He ain’t here,” he growled.

  “Right, but tell whoever ain’t here it’s Mo.”

  The monster disappeared behind the dingy curtain into the back. He came out clinching his fists, flipped a belligerent thumb at us, and stepped behind the bar. I could feel him drooling over Eleisha’s ass as we pulled the curtain back.

  The old man got up from behind the wooden desk and took Eleisha’s hand. He placed his lips to it in a light, courteous kiss, then shook my hand, the strength and power still there despite the shock of gray hair that bounded off his temples.

  There was a huge blackboard on the wall next to the desk. It had been erased, but I figured later it would contain the names of teams, horses, and the latest from the odds makers. He probably also had a pile of little black books stuffed in his desk drawers. But no worry. There were plenty of people in high places who would see to it that this place was never raided.

  “I didn’t expect to see you again, Elmo. But you bring this beautiful lady with you, you’re welcome any time at DOM’S.”

  Eleisha lit up the room with her smile and fired a courtly nod at the Italian patriarch. I wasn’t sure whether he returned it with a grin or a leer, but she had his attention.

  “So I know this ain’t no social visit and you ain’t here to eat Dom’s pizza. What do you want, Elmo?”

  “I’ll get right to the point, Mr. Ferrara. Do you know a Carmine Estera or maybe a Murray Santini?”

  “I know lots of people. Maybe they been here for a drink or a plate of pasta. And our garlic rolls . . . dey’s famous all over the neighborhood. You know me, Elmo. I try to be nice to everybody as long as they’re nice to me. Most of them are. If not, they don’t come back. We see to it.”

  The tone of his voice was heavily laced with an impending violence. There was nothing subtle about it. A type of twisted pride resided in his words. The threat hung in the air and promised to drop like the blade of guillotine any time he said the word. I felt Eleisha shudder slightly and lean a little closer to me.

  “Suppose I did know these mugs you was talking about. So what?”

  “I think they might have been the guys who did Lute.”

  He put his hand on the desk and pushed away. Then he turned in the leather chair and stared out of a small, dusty, window.

  “I told you, Elmo. Lute was a good boy. His mamma still cries every night, recites her rosary. We go to Mass. We light candles, pray for his soul, leave a buck or two for the priest. Probably don’t do no damned good, but he was my boy . . . always my boy. Blood is blood, don’t make no matter. We miss him, but sometimes you just gotta leave things be.”

  I knew too much about Dom Ferrara to feel sorry for him, and Lute had tried to kill me. I couldn’t forget that, but the agony was etched in his face and for just a moment, it was reflected in mine.

  “Well, we’re looking,” I said, “Billy’s looking. Nobody’s given up. I just thought there might be something you missed, something that maybe came to you later. Anything might help.”

  “My boy is gone. Nothing helps. I don’t know no Carmine Estera or that other guy you mentioned. Maybe you oughta just leave. I’m an old man, but it don’t mean I ain’t got stuff to do. One last thing . . . probably nothing. Couple of yuppies was in here last week. Not from the neighborhood. Didn’t recognize them at first. Then it hit me. Melanie’s daughter, distant relations. She’s a real knockout. Said they was sorry about Lute, but I never seen them at the funeral. Like I said, probably nothing, but now it’s time for you to go. You run into Billy, tell him I said to go fuck himself . . . or maybe somebody else.”

  We had been dismissed. The dark goon mysteriously appeared from behind the curtain. His fists were still clenched. It was time to leave.

  We walked back to the apartment. I didn’t get it at first, but as the tapes in my mind began to replay, I realized that the old man had tried to tell me something. Why mention Shasta and Todd? The description, “a real knockout.” stuck and prodded the edges of my consciousness. We already knew she was a suspect . . . maybe even a damned good one. So why not a guilty one? I ran it all by Eleisha. She was skeptical. I think she was still clutching to a hope that Shasta wasn’t involved. It might have been a girl thing, but I listened to her. It didn’t help. We had her number on Boulder’s cell. We had motive and maybe opportunity. Maybe we had Shasta. It was just a matter of time and we needed one more break.

  I called Billy to deliver Dom’s message.

  “Yeah, well fuck the stinkin’ wop, too,” was Billy’s retort.

  I told him about the questions and the vibes I had gotten from the old man. Missed his kid, thought the mob had acted hastily, maybe even tried to point us in a direction without betraying his Family benefactors. Omerta, the Code of Silence, and all that shit.

  “Okay, I’m going to pay a little visit to the Shipleys. No arrests, just a few polite questions. You can go along, if you like . . . be my consultant. Might be helpful, even make it seem a little less official.”

  I wasn’t crazy about the idea, but what else does a guy do with his time when he’s bored and frustrated?