Admission of Guilt (The detroit im dyin Trilogy, Book 2) (The Detroit Im Dying Trilogy)

by T. V. LoCicero

  “She’s a mess. We all told her she couldn’t handle that stuff.”

  “Smack?”

  “Yeah.”

  Charlie tried again. “So did Johnny G ever mention Monelli?”

  “Look, I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’ about Johnny G. So go do your dog-shit job someplace else.”

  “But Sal, I thought we were just about to fall in love here.”

  “Fuck off, pal.”

  Charlie got to his feet with one last grin. “Have a nice day.”

  As he left, Doris called from the stage. “Hey, baby, where you goin’?”

  He waved and said, “I’ll be back.”

  Something told him he needed to talk with Tina. And at the back of the parking lot next to the bar, he found her trying, without much success, to kick in the fender of a black Eldorado. The Nova was parked nearby, and as he walked to it, he stopped to watch.

  “Hey, Tina, whose car?”

  She paused her attack. “Big Al’s. What’s it to you?”

  Charlie grinned in a disinterested way. “He finds you out here, there’s gonna be little pieces of Tina scattered all over the lot.”

  “Hey, aren’t you the one wanted to know about Johnny G?”

  “Yeah, you know him?”

  “Sure, I know him.” Tina moved unsteadily toward Charlie. “You were askin’ about him and Monelli.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How much is it worth to you?” She was standing close to him now. Her eyes were glassy and red-veined.

  “Depends on what you got. How much will it take to get you fixed?”

  She stood there, as if calculating. “Maybe two hundred?”

  Charlie took a wad from his pocket, peeled off two 50s and gave them to her. “Here’s half. You got anything at all, I’ll give you the rest.”

  Tina tucked the bills in her shorts and said quickly, “He’s very interested in Monelli.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning I gave him that magazine—what’s it called? Metro-City, or somethin’—with Monelli’s picture on the cover. And he said Monelli was his favorite topic.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “I don’t know, maybe a couple weeks. After that, he said he read it, and we talked some.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “He said Monelli was killin’ a whole generation of kids, and somebody should do him. I said he was crazy.”

  Chapter 69

  John placed two McDonald’s bags and two Cokes on the desk and moved back to the outside door to snap the padlock in place. Then he walked across the office to the bathroom door, opened its lock and knocked.

  “If you’re hungry, come on out and get yourself a cheeseburger and fries.”

  Moving back to the bags, he reached into one for a Big Mac and sat at the desk. After a few seconds the door to the bathroom opened, and Megan walked into the office.

  “How you doin’?” He tried for natural and friendly. “You gotta be hungry. You’ve hardly eaten since you’ve been here.”

  The girl moved to the bags and took a cheeseburger, fries and a Coke. “I don’t know how you can eat this shit.”

  “Hey, it’s un-American not to like McDonald’s.”

  “Where’s that ketchup you bought?”

  John gestured toward an old, half-sized refrigerator in the corner. “In there.”

  She put the food back in the bag, then carried it and the Coke to the small fridge. There she removed the ketchup bottle and headed back to the bathroom.

  “The only way I can eat this stuff,” she said, holding the bottle upside down over the bag. “And if I don’t have to look at you,” she added, closing the door behind her

  “Suit yourself.”

  Chapter 70

  In the gloom enveloping his personal suite at the Eastbrook Manor Motel, Monelli sat with his father, Robert and Marco, listening to Albert report, glancing at scribbles on a 3 by 5 card. The 40-inch projection Mitsubishi offered pictures but no sound from the Thursday Night Movie, “Kramer vs. Kramer.”

  “So we got a neighbor seen her get inside that red Mercury, a Topaz, he thought. But after that she absolutely fuckin’ disappears.”

  “And the plates was stolen?” asked the older Monelli.

  “Reported stolen the same day,” said Albert. “Whoever did it planned pretty careful.”

  Monelli slouched in an armchair, placed his hands together in front of his face as if he were praying. “What I don’t understand is if he didn’t just grab her or anything, why she just got in the car. Why would she do that? She knows better than that.”

  “Kids don’t always do what they should,” said Marco.

  Robert added, “Maybe he pulled a gun on her.”

  Monelli shook his head. “Even if he did, she would know better. We talked about it. She knew her best bet was always to run, even if somebody had a gun in a situation like that.”

  Old Cigar Mike blew a cloud of smoke. “Look, it don’t matter how they got her in the car. The fact is they did. So, Marco, what about Gigante’s people? You didn’t hear nothin’ from them?”

  “Not a fuckin’ thing. Not one fuckin’ word like they was involved.”

  Robert nodded. “Same for my guy with Carolla’s crew.”

  Marco waved at the TV screen where Frank DeFauw was doing a pitch without sound. “There’s that fuckin’ DeFauw says you’re gonna be on his show tomorrow night.”

  Monelli picked up the remote and raised the volume.

  “Steven Monelli. Is he the model citizen some say he is? Or is he one of Metro Detroit’s top crime lords? Watch our exclusive, no-holds-barred live conversation and decide for yourself. That’s Steven Monelli ‘Up-Front’ tomorrow on the Channel 5 News at five.”

  He zapped the sound.

  “‘Top crime lord,’” growled Marco. “Fucker should be stuffed in a freezer.”

  “I thought this guy don’t want publicity,” said Albert.

  “He doesn’t,” said Monelli quickly. “I’m supposed to be on that show to say a certain word, like a code word, that says everything’s set and he can pick up the cash.”

  “And this.” Marco reached into a jacket pocket to pull out a good-sized zip lock bag filled with white powder.

  “Right,” said Monelli. “You better give that to me. You’re sure it’s good?”

  Marco handed over the bag. “Best we got.”

  “Okay. But make sure you keep digging. Everybody we got should be on this. We got less than 24 hours now.”

  Robert and Albert were on their feet saying, “Yes, sir,” and “We’ll do it.”

  Marco also stood. “What about the shine? You hear anything from him?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I still think it’s niggers,” said Marco. “Even if that neighbor says he saw a white guy in the car. Some of them shines look whiter than you or me.”

  “Keep pluggin’, fellas,” said Monelli. “Right up to the deadline.”

  “You got it,” said Marco.

  Albert waved. “See you later, Mr. Monelli.”

  The old man nodded grimly as the three left the suite.

  Chapter 71

  The two Monellis sat without speaking for long time, staring into space without a glance at the big TV where Dustin Hoffman looked very unhappy with Meryl Streep.

  The old man finally broke the silence. “You still ain’t talkin’ to the two Tonys?”

  His son shook his head. “No, Pa, they’re gonna ask too damn many questions. These three are soldiers. They’ll do what I tell them but not ask why this, why that.”

  “So you decided you gonna go through with this?”

  The son grimaced. “Nothing turns up in the next 24 hours, well, actually, less now, what else am I gonna do?”

  “I told you, wait it out. Call their bluff. They ain’t gonna do nothin’ to the little girl. If they do, they got nothin’ on you any more. And they got nothin’ but the worst trouble they ever seen, and they know
that better’n anybody.”

  “Pa, that’s a chance I cannot take. I can’t risk them hurting Megan.”

  His father frowned his disapproval. “Goddamn coke. I told you I didn’t like it when you started with that shit. You deal with our people in the old country, like with the heroin, that’s one thing. But you try to do business with them Colombians or whatever they are, and you got nothing but trouble.”

  “They’re Cubans, Pa, anti-Castro Cubans, and they haven’t caused me one ounce of trouble since we started. They got the whole U.S. government behind them. You know, these government people don’t give a shit about drugs, as long as the money goes to fight Castro. It’s the safest thing we ever done. And I remember you saying the same thing back when you thought it was a good idea.”

  “I said, you don’t need this. You got enough goin’ without it.”

  “Look, Pa, there’s just too much money in this stuff to pass it up. You can’t just turn your back when there’s so much changing hands, and it’s so damn easy. You pass on it, and pretty soon these black assholes are gonna be taking over everything. You taught me that.”

  The old man shrugged and shook his head.

  “No,” said his son, “once I made that connection in Miami, I had to move on it. One hundred Ks every 30 days. Like clockwork. And we don’t even have to get it up here. They bring it, in these semi-truck trailers with a false bottom and the trailer’s full of used office furniture or some damn thing. Then they unload the stuff, put it in a bin in that storage company right nearby in Sterling Heights and call and tell us where we can find the key as soon as we transfer a mill and half to that off-shore bank they use. Our people supply three different outfits around the city, and we put a cool two and a half mill in our own Cayman bank every four weeks. No way they connect me with any of it, and, like I said, the money’s going to fight that commie Castro. It’s like winning the lottery every month.”

  The old man stared hard at his son. “The lottery don’t take your little girl away from you.”

  His son moved awkwardly in his armchair. “And neither do the Cubans. It’s absurd to think they had any part in it.”

  “Well, it’s your call. But I see these people, whoever they are, like them scum terrorists that blew up the airport in Rome. You give ‘em what they want, it’s just askin’ for more trouble.”

  “Pa, that’s ridiculous...”

  “Besides, you rat on your people like that, and there ain’t gonna be nobody safe in your family.”

  Monelli sat up in his chair and leaned forward. “Look, Pa, I’m not gonna lay it out like I just did for you. I’ll give ‘em some low level guys, and once I know Megan is safe, we’ll spread the word about what happened, and everybody’ll understand.”

  “They ain’t gonna understand nothin’. The only thing they gonna understand is you ratted.”

  Monelli said nothing, wondering why he’d ever asked this senile old man for counsel. On the silent TV the cute little boy got a big hug from Dustin Hoffman.

  Chapter 72

  The kitchen felt like an oven, the lacy curtains limp and unmoving at the wide-opened window, the darkness outside thick with humidity. In an old Pistons t-shirt and shorts Susan poured herself a glass of diet Coca Cola over ice. A storm had been forecast for later in the night, and the drought that had lasted for three weeks was finally about to end. As she opened the fridge to replace the large plastic bottle, she called to the living room.

  “You sure you don’t want some Coke?”

  “Christ, all that caffeine?”

  “How about a beer then?”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  She grabbed a can of Bud and walked back to the living room. There were two windows wide open, but it still felt just like the kitchen. Clad only in jeans, Charlie slouched at one end of the sofa and stared blankly at the silent TV with a picture on screen of the Supreme Court nominee, Ruth Bader Ginsburg. It was the Channel 5 news, but with Frank not on tonight and some other guy doing it, they had watched the first 5 minutes, then hit the mute. She placed the beer next to the tape recorder on the coffee table and sat with him on the sofa.

  Charlie snapped open the beer. “How can you drink that stuff and still sleep?”

  Susan sipped the Coke. “Good conscience.”

  “I guess it’s good for something.”

  “That and good sex.”

  She put her glass down on the coffee table and reached over to unbutton the top of his jeans. “Hey, Charles, how about a little fun?”

  Gently but firmly he removed her hand and redid his jeans. “Jesus Christ, here I’ve got the biggest case of my so-called career, and you’re want to fool around.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “It’s distracting.”

  “You need a little distracting.”

  With a slug of his beer, he gazed at Susan. With her glasses off, her hair in tight moist ringlets, her nipples showing through her thin t-shirt and her legs long, trim and shapely with her feet up on the coffee table, she looked so fetching he wondered about his own lack of desire.

  She traced the muscle in his arm. “You sure you don’t want to play?”

  Leaning back on the sofa, he stretched. “I think we need some sleep. Even if I get up before dawn, I’ll still only have about 12 hours.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know why you want to find this guy, anyway. I don’t want anything to happen to the little girl, but I sure would like to see Monelli go down.”

  “I know. We’ve been over this a million times, and I keep telling you it won’t matter if he does go down. There’s always somebody else gonna take his place.”

  Getting up, she started to walk out, then stopped and turned, fixing Charlie with a riveting glare. “I don’t care. I think of what happened to Lissa Martin and what’s happening to so many kids in this city. And when you have a chance to do something, anything, to stop it even for just a little while, you’ve got to do it.”

  “You’re such a good-doer.”

  “That has nothing to do with it! Think about your own sons. In a year or two they’ll both be old enough to be out on some street corner selling that shit! How would you feel about that, Charlie? Think about it.”

  She turned to leave but glimpsed something on the TV that stopped her. “Charlie, turn up the sound.”

  He had his head back on the couch, his eyes closed. “What?”

  “Turn the sound up on the tube!”

  He opened his eyes and grabbed for the remote next to him on the couch. On the screen, a man in his mid-20s with heavy stubble covering his face was speaking in what looked to be a cemetery. Charlie hit the volume up button.

  “...mostly black and Hispanic kids. They’re worthless, they scare us and we’d be better off without ‘em. That’s what too many people think, so the powers-that-be simply don’t give a...”

  Susan moved up close to the TV. “That’s him! I was right!”

  “That’s who?”

  “That’s the young guy I met at the funeral, Giordano. And that’s the voice. Listen!”

  On the TV the guy continued: “...fund education enough to help them get out of this hellhole they’re in. Look, maybe if they really went after the big guys, the importers, the guys who drop tons of this poison on our neighborhoods, maybe if they really started slamming those guys, it could have an impact. But it’s a huge business, and the biggest players are just so well protected. And connected.”

  On screen Mary Scott appeared and said solemnly: “Former public school teacher John Giordano tonight in his own words. It’s part of an upcoming Channel 5 news documentary called “Kids and Crack,” and hosted by my colleague Frank DeFauw. Watch for it soon on Channel 5. Don?”

  “Thanks, Mary. Well, it looks like we’re finally going to get some relief from this drought we’ve been going through...”

  Charlie muted the TV again and stared at Susan. Finally he said, “I think you’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right.
That’s the voice, and he’s your guy. I mean you already pretty much knew it, but now it’s for sure.”

  He was frowning and silent.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothin’, except there’s so little time left, and we still don’t have the slightest idea where this guy’s hiding and where he’s got the girl. And also, what if Monelli was watching tonight and recognized the voice?”

  She thought about that for a second. “Well, if he did, you’ll be hearing from him very soon.”

  Chapter 73

  In the late evening darkness a crack of thunder bounced off the cement block walls of the cheese factory and announced a heavy summer downpour. As usual there were no interior lights visible from outside the plant.

  Inside the office he slept fitfully on the couch in his underwear. And behind the padlocked door in the girl’s hot little bathroom cell, the Donald Duck light glowed as she lay curled on the cot.

  Rain began drumming on the building, and when another thunderclap split the night’s silence, she moved with a start. With her eyes wide open she listened to the rain and thought for a long time. Then curled tighter on the cot, she hugged her pillow and smiled.

  Chapter 74

  “So how’d you find out where his mother lives?”

  In a short lacy nightgown she was propped against a pillow in bed while Charlie slowly removed his jeans.

  “From that secretary at the school. Called her up and said I was drawing a blank and asked did she have a next-of-kin or emergency number.”

  The heavy rain had finally brought relief from the muggy, oppressive heat, and a light breeze at the open window was already making the room more comfortable. He always slept naked, even in the dead of winter, and she loved to watch him strip. It was about the sexiest body she had ever seen, strong and hard and graceful. Yet there was a vulnerability about him that seemed especially poignant when he was naked. It was that combination of apparent opposites that had drawn her to him from the beginning.

  A case had brought them together, actually two cases, hers and his. She was working with an ADC mother with four children under seven, and he was tracking down the man who was living unofficially with the family and who owed his ex-wife, Charlie’s client, big time child support. Susan had known at the time she was, to some extent, taking Charlie on as a “project,” just as with previous men in her life, but somehow his upside had seemed much greater than with the others.