C T Ferguson Box Set

by Tom Fowler

  “Never have. I’m sure Vinnie doesn’t, either. He doesn’t pay you to think.”

  “I’m not stupid.”

  “Then do something smart. Give up Vinnie. You did kill Paul Fisher, so you won’t get a great deal from the states attorney, but you’ll probably get something. Take it. Take the deal and sing like a goddamn canary who doesn’t want to go back to the coalmine.”

  “You want me to give up Vinnie?”

  “I think it’s in your best interests. He doesn’t care about you. If I arrested you, Vinnie wouldn’t care. He’d just hire some other guy with a gun fetish and no neck. If he’s not going to care about you, why care about him?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, OK. OK. I get you. Fuck Vinnie. I’ll give him up.”

  “Good. Here’s the thing: you need to act like everything is normal for now. He’ll go down soon. Until he does, I don’t want him to know his people have turned on him. I don’t want Alice Fisher to get hurt.” Alice—she was still in Margaret Madison’s house. I glowered at Sal. “You didn’t hurt her, did you?”

  “No, she’s good. She’s inside. I had to tie her up, but she ain’t hurt.”

  “Good.” I used my free hand to grab my wallet and fish out a business card, which I tossed down onto him. “I’ll call you when the shit hits the fan. Don’t burn me on this.” I put the gun closer to his face for emphasis.

  “I won’t, I won’t,” he said.

  I heard footsteps running down the sidewalk. Sal heard them, too. He tried and failed to get to his feet. I stuffed the gun under my sweater. Rich ran to us, his Beretta in his hand. “Everything all right?” he said.

  “We’re under control, Officer,” I said.

  “You need this guy arrested?”

  “No, he’s going to play ball.”

  “Good.” Rich put his gun away, and crouched beside Sal. “I can probably get you something from the DA, but if you burn us, you’ll go down hard. Harder than Vinnie. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “I ain’t gonna burn you,” Sal said. He managed to pull himself to a seated position. Blood stopped running from his head and face, and now it caked in his hair. “I ain’t gonna go down for Vinnie.”

  “All right, then. Get out of here,” Sal got to one knee, winced, and pushed himself to his feet. He limped on his dodgy right knee toward his coat and gun. Rich and I both watched him as he put the gun back in the holster, put his coat on, and hobbled out of the alley.

  “Alice is inside,” I said. “Sal told me he tied her up, but didn’t hurt her.”

  “Let’s get her,” Rich said.

  I put Sal’s gun in my waistband, retrieved my .45, and put my trench coat back on. It needed a serious dry cleaning after being in the alley. I frowned at the wet spot on my left sleeve, refusing to imagine it was anything other than water. Rich had gone to Margaret Madison’s rear door. When I got there, Margaret stood in the doorway.

  “She’s in the basement,” she said.

  “Is she OK?” Rich and I said simultaneously.

  Margaret looked between us and smirked. “Yeah, she’s fine. Once Sal left, I told her what was going on.”

  “Is she still tied up?” I said,

  “No, I untied her when Sal left. She stayed in the basement in case he came back.”

  Rich and I walked inside, and I led the way to the basement stairs. Fortunately, no one asked why I knew where they were. Alice rushed forward and wrapped me in a hug. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said. Her voice trembled. I put my arms around her.

  “It’s good to see you, too.” I said. “We’re glad you’re safe.”

  “Not as glad as I am.” Alice let me go, ran to Rich, and they gave each other huge hugs. I guess they had bonded over carry-out lunches in the hotel.

  “We need to decide where you go from here,” I said.

  “Can I stay with you?”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it. Vinnie knows me. He knows where I live. Hell, he found out where we stashed you.” I still didn’t know how he pulled it off. “You need to go someplace he’s not going to find you easily.”

  “You can stay with me,” Rich said. “Vinnie doesn’t really know me. Besides, it shouldn’t be for long.”

  I nodded. “We’ve flipped his people on him. I think we can take him down tonight.”

  “Just say when.”

  “I have a plan in mind. You can make the arrest. I want Vinnie to confess, though.”

  “We don’t need him to.”

  “Sure, but he doesn’t know that.”

  Chapter 22

  We didn’t need Vinnie’s confession. With the information his erstwhile employees could give us, plus the physical evidence recovered from the Paul Fisher scenes, we had enough to put him away. Though I didn’t expect him to, Rich went along with me on getting Vinnie to confess. Now I had to deliver the goods.

  First, I had other matters to address. Chaoxiang Ngai had a unique name, so finding his bank records didn’t take me long. I didn’t want his money, though, only knowledge of where he got it. Twice a month, deposits from Serrano Enterprises, LLC, hit his checking account. Vinnie considered his gambling ring an enterprise now. Somehow, he hoodwinked people into thinking it was a legitimate limited liability company. Regardless, I found his corporate bank account easily.

  I had previously accessed the Fishers’ account and still had his information noted in a text file. Vinnie would pay for Paul Fisher’s death in terms of a legal punishment. I decided he should also pay for it financially. Paul didn’t have life insurance, but Alice said his funeral would be paid for. She could use that money for other, happier means. I hoped she wouldn’t decide to gamble it away, but considering all the trouble her habit had gotten her in, I felt confident her days as a high roller were over.

  How much did funerals cost these days? My sister’s had cost quite a bit, but my parents had insisted on the finest coffin, a headstone carved from granite with Mjolnir, and other extravagances the Fishers’ limited benefits wouldn’t cover. I settled on ten thousand as a reasonable figure and decided Vinnie owed Alice at least as much again for pain and suffering. The loss of her husband couldn’t be valued in dollars, but her near-term financial comfort had a value. I transferred thirty thousand from Vinnie’s account—leaving him with only a few hundred dollars on hand—to the Fishers’ joint account. Those funds would completely wipe out Alice’s debt and allow her to live a little after the loss of her husband,

  It would also piss Vinnie off, which made me happy.

  I skipped dinner as I assembled my plan. Margaret called me to say Vinnie checked up on Alice. She said everything was OK. Sal checked in to say he told Vinnie everything still came up aces. I didn’t hear from Chaoxiang but presumed something similar had happened to him. Vinnie still thought his people were his people, and Alice Fisher sat in Margaret Madison’s basement tied to a chair and afraid for her life. I imagined the smug smile on his face.

  I called Vinnie. It was time to kick the plan into motion. “What the hell do you want?” he said when he answered his phone.

  “To know where manners have gone,” I said.

  “I don’t have much patience for you, C.T. What do you want?”

  “Sal took a shot at me today, Vinnie. I want a truce. At least for tonight. Let’s talk. There’s no reason we both can’t be civil and come out of this unscathed.”

  “You want to talk?” I heard the mirth, the joy in his voice. He thought he had the advantage. After all, he had Alice Fisher stashed in his girlfriend’s basement, and I didn’t know anything about it.

  “Yeah, just you and me. No guns, no goons. We can meet at The Field again. I’ll bring dinner.”

  Vinnie released a slow, deep breath into the phone. “Dinner is fine. You bring dinner. But we won’t meet at The Field. You want to talk to me now, you come to my house. I’m going to have the home-field advantage in this one.”

  I made a point to sigh into my phone. “All right, I’ll do it your way. You have me in
a bind here, so I guess I have to.”

  “Yeah, I guess you do.”

  “You still have the same house in Rodgers Forge?”

  “You remember. I’m touched.”

  “Of course, I remember. I’ll pick up some food and come by at eight-thirty. Is that good?”

  “Sure, eight-thirty. Oh, C.T.? Park on the street. I reserve the driveway for my friends.” Vinnie hung up.

  The smug prick. This would be very satisfying.

  At eight-thirty-six, armed with a paper bag full of delicious carry-out and as much false humility as I could muster, I got out of my car and walked up to Vinnie’s front door. I rang the bell. He made me wait in the cold for over a minute before he opened the door. He looked at me like a teacher might regard an uppity pupil—a look I remembered during my school days. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d show,” he said, swinging the storm door wide.

  “You know how prompt I am,” I said.

  “Where’d you go?”

  “Scotto’s Pizza. It gets good reviews.”

  “I’ve wanted to try that place for a while.” Vinnie walked into the kitchen, and I followed him. The house looked much like I remembered, right down to the maroon carpeting. It had seen more wear since the last time I was here, but the color remained the same. Vinnie’s upholstery upgrade money went toward the ginormous TV mounted on his wall. He also had every next-generation console on an entertainment center, along with a slew of movies and games in a tall bookcase. His hand-me-down furniture had become dark brown leather looking and smelling recently cleaned. The bookmaking and loan-sharking business must be a good one.

  Vinnie had an oak table in his kitchen. I set the bags down atop it while Vinnie took a seat. “Fetch me a beer, will you?” he said.

  “Fetch” indeed. “Sure,” I said. I walked to his stainless steel refrigerator and opened the door. Vinnie didn’t keep a lot of food on hand, but the drawers and compartments were full of soda, condiments, and beer. I grabbed two bottles of Blue Moon out of the fridge and carried them to the table.

  “Care to slice an orange?” Vinnie said. He flashed an insincere smile. That same smug look was still plastered on his face.

  “Don’t press your luck,” I said. “Silverware?”

  “Last drawer on the right.”

  I walked to the counter opposite the fridge and opened the drawer. Vinnie kept his silverware and some other supplies in there. I grabbed what I needed and carried it to the table. “What’s the silverware for?”

  “Salads came with our sandwiches. I also picked up some marinated potatoes and string beans in olive oil. They sounded good.”

  “Sounds almost swell enough to turn me into a fucking vegetarian.” Vinnie laughed. It sounded sincere, and the accompanying smile reached his eyes. “Almost.”

  “If you’re going to convert, do it after this,” I said. “I got us barbeque chicken pita sandwiches and curly fries.”

  “I’ve heard the curly fries are divine.”

  “Who says ‘divine’?”

  “I do,” said Vinnie. “You ever try them?”

  “Nope, I just went there because it’s sort of on the way and because I read some good reviews.”

  I sat at the table, and we started eating. “So you want a truce?” Vinnie said. He had eaten a few bites of the pita sandwich, but none of the sides. I speared a marinated potato and tried it. They deserved the reputation.

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m tired of looking over my shoulder. Tired of getting hit over the head. Tired of people shooting at me. I’m just tired of this case.” I sighed and made sure to look down at the table. “I didn’t sign up for all of this. It was supposed to be an adultery case.”

  “Adultery? Paul was fucking around on his wife?”

  “No, actually, I guess I should have bailed when I discovered he was innocent, but you know me—I like to see things through to the end.”

  “But not this time.”

  I shook my head. “No. Not after everything that’s happened.”

  Vinnie nodded. He put the pita down, grabbed a few curly fries, and shoved them into his mouth. “Then let’s negotiate the terms of your surrender.”

  He must have thought he was Ulysses S. Grant. “All right,” I said, lowering my voice.

  “Drop the case, first of all. Stop trying to be Alice’s white knight. She owes me a lot of money. One way or another, I’m going to get it from her.”

  “Sounds OK so far.”

  “You know I have Alice, right?” Vinnie practically beamed at me. “I’ve been waiting to tell you. You think you’re so smart. You think you can fuck around overseas, come back home, and do the job of a real detective. A real P.I. would know not to use a debit card with the same number he had in college.” Now I knew how he found Alice. “Yeah, I remember. A memory for numbers helps someone like me. You can’t even keep a woman safe from my boys.”

  I looked at the tabletop, closed my eyes, and shook my head. “I hope you don’t hurt her.”

  “I hope I don’t have to. You never know, though.” Vinnie picked up his fork and ate a few potatoes, then some string beans. “Damn, these are good. Spiced really well, too. Where was I?”

  He knew where he was; he just wanted me to say it. “Something about not keeping Alice safe from you and your boys.”

  “Fuck, those words sound sweet.” Vinnie paused long enough to cough once, then continued. “Yeah, I have her. She’s going to get me my money, and you’re going to stop looking for her. No cops, either, and no fucking feds. You involve anyone official, and I’ll make sure she gets hurt.”

  I nodded. “I don’t want to see her hurt.”

  Vinnie ate some more string beans. “Of course you don’t. You’re so fucking noble when you want to be. Always have to be the good guy.” He coughed again and took a swig of his beer. I sat there and watched him. “I don’t want you sniffing around my operation, either. Me and my people are off-limits to you, you got it?”

  “I got it.”

  “I guess we’re good for now. I might think of something else later.” Vinnie coughed again. “Damn, I’m getting congested.” He dove into his curly fries again, giving me a mocking smile as he shoved each one into his mouth. I ate my sandwich and fries and watched him.

  Vinnie finished eating some string beans when it happened. The fork fell from his hand. His eyes opened wide. His breathing sounded labored and ragged like he had to suck in great gulps of air to take a regular breath. “What’s wrong?” I said.

  “Breathing . . . problems,” Vinnie said. He got up and dashed to the counter, opening the last drawer on the right while clinging to the counter to remain upright. I watched him rummage through it. Then he threw his hands up and shouted.

  “Looking for this?” I took his epinephrine pen out of my pocket and waved it in the air. He looked at it and glared at me. “I saw it in the drawer. Even someone as stupid as I am figured you might keep it there.”

  “Give me . . .,” Vinnie said, staggering toward me with his hand out.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What . . . the food?”

  “Yeah. I went to Scotto’s because they cook the fries in peanut oil.”

  “Peanut . . . oil?” Vinnie clutched his chest. He stopped shambling toward me, halting about three steps shy. His breath came in ragged gasps.

  “I know . . . I know. You have a peanut allergy. You were the only kid in school who did. How could I forget? Where was I?”

  Vinnie’s only reply was a gasp.

  “Oh, right, your allergy. I took chemistry in high school and college. I know peanut oil alone won’t set it off. You need the peanut proteins too. So I added salt from the bottom of a peanut jar to all the food.”

  “I’ll . . . die.” Vinnie sank to his knees.

  “Not right away. You’ll be in anaphylactic shock for a while.”

  “I’ll . . . die,” he said again.

  “Then confess. Confess to what you did to Paul and Alice Fis
her.”

  “Or . . . what?”

  I shrugged. “Or you’ll die. ‘I’m sorry, Officer, I didn’t know he had a peanut allergy. If only we could have found the epi pen in time.’” I frowned theatrically and shook my head.

  “Fine . . . fine. I had . . . Paul killed. Had Alice . . . kidnapped.”

  “Isn’t confession good for the soul, Vinnie?”

  He looked at me, gasped, and sank to the floor. “Oh, all right. I guess I shouldn’t let you die.” I took the cap off the epi pen, stabbed the needle into his thigh, and pushed the plunger. Vinnie’s anguished expression softened into something approaching relief. He still gasped, but his breathing cleared up over the next minute.

  “You bastard,” he said.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” I said. “We already talked to Margaret, Sal, and Chaoxiang.”

  “Who?”

  “The man you derisively call Sam.”

  “What did . . . they say?”

  “They’re going to roll on you. You’re done, Vinnie. They’ll testify against you.” I smiled at him. “I didn’t even need your confession.”

  “What the fuck . . . was all this, then?”

  I stood. “I wanted you to suffer for what you had done to Paul and Alice Fisher.”

  “You motherfucker.” Vinnie stood, but the effort almost sent him sprawling to the tiled floor again. He recovered his balance and threw a shaky right cross at me. I blocked it and elbowed him in the face. He fell back to the tile and rubbed his jaw.

  “Stay down, Vinnie. I have to make a phone call. Rich is going to come in and arrest you. You remember him, right? He’s a real detective . . . with the police and everything.”

  “The confession you get won’t hold up.”

  “I told you we didn’t need it. I’m sure Alice will testify against you. Between her and your three former employees, you’re going up the river for a while.” I took out my cell phone and called Rich. “He confessed.” Vinnie scowled at me.

  “I’ll be right in.” Rich hung up. I put my phone away.