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

by T. V. LoCicero

  Back inside the cheese factory office Charlie closed the door behind him and secured the padlock. Megan immediately called from the bathroom, “Hey, how about letting me out of here!”

  “In a little while.”

  “You said that an hour ago!”

  “Yeah, it was 20 minutes. Just be patient.”

  “What happened to that other guy?”

  “Don’t worry about him.”

  “I’m not.”

  Moving back around to the desk to sit in front of the old portable TV, he turned it on. He moved the 7-Up and the hot dogs to get a better view of the screen and then adjusted the rabbit ears to improve the picture.

  Then he turned up the sound in time to hear DeFauw’s familiar, dramatic delivery.

  “Tonight on our ‘Up-Front’ segment, something very special. Steven Monelli says he and his family are upstanding members of our community, their businesses legitimate and their contributions to society substantial. But certain law enforcement officials, those willing to talk, say Mr. Monelli could offer a rare look at the world of organized crime, a view inside a so-called Mafia family that has dominated organized crime in Metro Detroit for the past four decades.”

  On the Channel 5 news set, Monelli sat at the desk along with DeFauw, watching and listening as the anchor continued reading from a teleprompter.

  “The son of alleged Mafia boss Michael ‘Cigar Mike’ Monelli, Steven Monelli has been called everything from a model citizen to the ruthless leader of a new, more sophisticated organized crime operation, which some say is every bit as vicious as the old gangland mobs of many decades ago. Tonight I’ll talk with Steven Monelli, and we’ll look for the truth about the man they call ‘The Bank.’ Mr. Monelli, thanks so much for being here.”

  “Yeah.” From his inside coat pocket Monelli took the two folded pages. “But before we get started, I have a statement I’m gonna read.”

  “Well, Mr. Monelli, that is really not our format here on the ‘Up-Front’ segment and...”

  Monelli interrupted. “It’s very brief, Mr. DeFauw. I think it’ll be of great interest to you and your viewers.”

  In the cheese factory office Charlie continued watching the old portable as DeFauw glanced quickly off camera and then said, “Well, all right, Mr. Monelli, but understand that if this turns out to be beside the point we’re concerned with here, or it’s simply a self-serving statement, I’ll reserve the right to stop you and get us back on track. Also please keep it brief.”

  “Right.”

  Monelli unfolded his handwritten pages and began to read. “First of all, I want to make clear that no member of my family and no employee or associate of mine in any capacity is aware of what I am about to say.”

  Charlie reached for a 7-Up and took a sip. Then he got up, moved to the storeroom door, and headed for the refrigeration room. Opening its heavy door a crack, he said without looking in, “You wanna watch TV?”

  Chapter 96

  In the den of the Monellis’ Grosse Pointe Park home, Cigar Mike watched his son on a 32-inch Sony built into a cabinet.

  “No member of my family has any knowledge whatsoever of the activities I am about to describe, and my decision to talk about these activities is solely my own, undertaken of my own free will.”

  On the news set, Monelli stopped and looked up at the large studio doors, hoping against hope to see them swinging open and Robert charging through. He waited for five seconds until DeFauw finally said, “Mr. Monelli?”

  With a quick grimace and a slight nod, he returned to his handwritten pages. “For the past seven years I have been responsible for buying and importing large quantities of both heroin and cocaine and supplying both to a major distributor in this city.”

  In the control room adjacent to the studio, the director, wearing a headset and watching a bank of monitors, screamed, “Whoa! Holy shit!”

  The monitors showed him various camera angles on Monelli pausing for a moment to reach into his suit coat pocket and bringing out the zip-lock bag of white powder.

  Flanked on one side by Fay Banks and on the other by an engineer working the switcher, the director screamed, “Three, get me a tight shot of that bag!”

  “God Almighty!” said Fay, awestruck, her mouth agape.

  “I don’t fuckin’ believe this,” said the audio man in the back of the control room.

  All the sets in the TV department of the Sears store at Lakeside Mall were showing a medium shot of Monelli, followed by a tight shot of the bag of white powder as a number of shoppers stood in a group to watch.

  “This bag,” said Monelli, “contains a kilo of uncut cocaine.”

  Back in the control room the director was screaming again. “Oh, yeah! Somebody get tight on Frank. He looks like he swallowed his freakin’ tongue.”

  Fay was shaking her head, then glimpsed the VP-GM Alice Whitney and her News Director Jack Johanson entering the control room. Alice came to her. “Did you have any idea?”

  “None!”

  On his corner on Fort Street Jimmy Long squinted at the tiny screen of his Sony Watchman and listened as Monelli continued: “It’s a small sample of what I’ve brought into this city over the past several years. When I leave this TV studio tonight...”

  In Monelli’s private suite at the Eastbrook Manor Motel, Marco and Albert were watching their employer on the 40-inch Mitsubishi.

  “...I will personally deliver this bag of cocaine to the local offices of the federal Drug Enforcement Administration.”

  “What the fuck!” said Marco.

  “I will cooperate fully in the Agency’s investigation of my dealings in illicit narcotics.”

  Albert and Marco looked at each other and stood up simultaneously. They paused for one more disbelieving look at the TV, then headed for the door.

  Curled in an armchair Susan watched Monelli on the set in her living room.

  “And I will ask for the stiffest punishment permitted under the laws governing the crimes I have committed. As I said at the beginning of this statement...”

  Catherine Monelli sat on the edge of her king-sized bed watching her husband on a portable color set on a roll-about stand.

  “...no member of my family is involved in any way in these crimes or, to my knowledge, any other criminal activity. I have the deepest...”

  With her head pressed against the bathroom door at the cheese factory, Megan strained to listen to her father’s voice on the set in the office.

  “...love and concern for my family, particularly my wife Catherine and my daughter Megan. And it is out of that love and concern...”

  On the other side of the bathroom door Charlie and John stared at the portable as Monelli completed his statement.

  “...that I am taking the steps I have outlined here tonight. Thank you.”

  At the news set desk, Monelli unclipped the mike from his lapel, dropped it on the floor next to his chair and got to his feet.

  For one of the few times in his life, Frank DeFauw had been rendered speechless, but as his interviewee began to move away from the desk, he finally found his voice. “Well, I have to say, Mr. Monelli, that is one of the most extraordinary statements I’ve ever heard in all my years in broadcasting.”

  Monelli said nothing and moved between cameras through the unlit part of the studio to find his way out. DeFauw was standing now behind his desk shouting. “Please, Mr. Monelli, just stay with us for a few more minutes. I’m sure our viewers have a number of questions. I know I do.”

  “I’m finished,” said Monelli, walking directly now to the large studio doors.

  In the control room the director was standing now, barking instructions to his camera operators. “Stay with him, two, stay with him! Three, get me Monelli!”

  On the large line monitor the picture was much darker now as Fay watched Monelli reach the doors.

  DeFauw was still shouting. “Please, Mr. Monelli, just a few more minutes for some questions. I think you owe us the answers!”r />
  The line monitor showed a dark image of Monelli shoving his way out the studio doors. He can be heard quite clearly saying, “Fuck you!”

  “Go to black,” screamed Alice Whitney. “Go to black.”

  Chapter 97

  Feeling old and anxious. Cigar Mike Monelli thought that was one fucked-up combo. Chewing on an unlit Cuban at a front living room window in his son’s home, he searched the empty street, then glanced at his gold Movado. It was 6:40 pm. Robert was due any minute in the Cadillac, and then it would be on to the motel.

  Certainly his Steven wouldn’t be needing a ride for a while. That blond guy on Channel 5, the one always waving his hands around too much, had said it on the news at 6. After what Steven had told DeFauw earlier in the newscast, he was not likely to be going anywhere on his own for quite some time.

  The reporter had said Robert and the Cadillac were roaring out the front gate at Channel 5 when Steven was still stalking off the news set. In front of the Federal Court Building, the reporter had described how a Detroit Police cruiser had brought the “reputed, no, make that self-described crime lord” downtown, escorted by no less than five city patrol cars. Like everybody else in town, the cops had been watching Steven Monelli with Frank DeFauw.

  “The fuck’s goin’ on, sir?” Marco had asked on the phone about a half hour ago.

  “I’ll tell you what’s goin’ on,” Cigar Mike had barked. “Just get everybody together at the motel, and I’ll come and say what’s goin’ on.”

  “You sure the motel’s okay? Maybe he already told ‘em about it.”

  “No, the motel is fine. Everybody’s gonna be okay.”

  A little damage control. No, make that a lot of damage control, was what he needed to do now. Get them all together and tell them the threat against Steven’s daughter had forced him to do it. All the more reason they needed to find Megan. Once she was safe, Steven would be out from under that hammer. Until then? He’d tell them Steven’s plan was to stall and tell the cops nothing important.

  Fact was, who the fuck knew what his son was gonna do.

  Damage control. He had done a ton of it in his day. Tonight he’d certainly rather have been sitting on his new teak deck at the suburban estate outside Phoenix, eating artichokes and watching the sunset. But he wouldn’t be there any time soon.

  At least now he’d be in control here, and not have to bend to his weak-willed son. Like last night when the idea came to him to pop that fuck DeFauw. All they needed was time. More time and they’d get Megan back. So grab some the easy way, with a high-profile hit that would turn everything in this goddamn town up-side-down for a while and probably scare the shit out of those fuckin’ kidnappers as well. But no, without even thinking about it, cock-sure Steven had pronounced the foolproof plan “too risky.”

  The phone rang in the den, and the old man, moving slowly with an achy knee, headed for it. Probably Robert calling from the Cadillac. After one ring there was silence, but he continued to the den and picked up the receiver on Steven’s desk. Only a dial tone. He moved back out of the den and stopped at the foot of the stairs.

  “Catherine.”

  With no answer he called again, louder. “Catherine, who was it?”

  In her daughter’s bedroom, Catherine Monelli sat, still shaking, on the edge of the bed. Her father-in-law’s voice from below had prompted only one thought: never again trust a man named Monelli.

  She steadied herself, then got to her feet and moved slowly to the bedroom door. With it open a crack, she asked, “What is it?”

  She could no longer bring herself to call him Dad.

  “Who was on the phone, Catherine?”

  “It was nothing A wrong number.”

  Her father-in-law was silent for a moment at the foot of the stairs. “Okay. I’ll be leaving for a meeting soon. Robert’s picking me up. If you hear anything, call me at the motel.”

  “I will,” she said, though she hoped never to hear his evil, rasping voice again. Closing the door she moved back to the bed. Instead of sitting again, she began pacing the room. Was she certain the voice on the phone was the same as the voice on the tape, without the phony drawl? What exactly did he say?

  “Megan is safe, and she’ll be returned to you soon.”

  Her voice filled with anger and hope, Catherine had asked, “When?”

  The man on the phone had hesitated for a second. “Tonight,” he had said finally and then hung up.

  Chapter 98

  Near the factory wall in the Nova, John sat on the passenger side of the front seat still staring at the phone attached to the dash. The intensity of the woman’s one-word question, “When?” reverberated in his memory. Charlie, sitting next to him behind the wheel, finally asked after a long silence, “Now, John, don’t you feel better?”

  Turning to look at the guy, he said, “No.”

  Then he turned away and gazed at the sun filtering though the thick foliage of the big old trees behind the factory. At least there would be more than two hours before darkness fell, and the black man would force him to return the girl home.

  “I just don’t see why it has to be tonight,” he said finally. “Why can’t we wait at least until Monday and give them a chance to get some useful information out of Monelli. The girl’s fine, and nothing’s going to happen to her in a couple of days.”

  “Look, John, I told you, they’re already talking to Monelli. I used to be a cop. I know how they do things. The first thing they do is take a written statement from the guy and have him sign it. They’re already doin’ that. And you already got Monelli himself nailed. That kilo alone is going to send him away for a helluva long time.”

  “Yeah, I hope.”

  “But you’ve put that woman and her daughter through hell, John, and that’s not goin’ on a minute longer than it has to. Not to mention that every minute you hold Megan is another minute you make us targets for Monelli’s thugs.”

  John glanced back toward the front of the property where the highway was invisible through the trees. “They’ll never find this place.”

  “I found it. And they could very easily been tailin’ me. No, John, as soon as it gets dark, you’re gonna put Megan in your car and bring her home. And I’m gonna follow along to be sure you do it.”

  “Why don’t you just do it yourself?” He glared sullenly at the black man.

  “Look, for a smart guy, you’re not thinkin’ very well. I told you, it’s better for me, and for you, if I never found her. She hasn’t seen me. She doesn’t know what I look like or who I am. And we’re gonna keep it that way. You understand?”

  He nodded without looking at the guy.

  “Anyway, that’s what you’re gonna do. And after that I only know what you should do.”

  Now John looked at him. “What’s that?”

  “Get out of this goddamn town for a long, long time. Go someplace far away where nobody knows you and start over. And whatever you do, don’t tell anybody, especially your family, where you’re goin’.”

  John nodded again.

  “And one more thing, John.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Lighten up, man. You’re gonna get yourself and a lot of other people badly hurt doin’ shit like this.”

  Chapter 99

  Rolling the big BMW through darkness down the drive and into the street, Catherine felt sure she was forgetting something. Probably more than one thing, she thought, accelerating up the street. She was not about to take an inventory of the two suitcases she had packed and shoved in the trunk.

  Certainly she was leaving behind life as she had known it. That had been clear almost from the moment she had hung up the phone with the kidnapper. And when her father-in-law had called from the bottom of the stairs that he’d be leaving shortly for the motel, her heart had begun racing with the thought that what she had to do might actually come easily.

  Once he had left the house, and she watched him ride away in the Cadillac with Robert, she had moved directly
to the den. Using the rhino and its little briefcase again, she had opened that big bottom desk drawer and found the audio cassette and the metal cash box still in place. Moving the cassette aside, she had opened the box and gazed in amazement at her luck. Five stacks of one thousand dollar bills, all but one of the stacks with their wrappers still intact. She lifted the loose stash and counted forty bills. The others must have fifty. There was nearly a quarter of a million dollars here.

  She had taken the cash box, and for some reason, the audio cassette as well, closed the drawer and headed upstairs to pack. The only surprise had come when she was loading a suitcase in Megan’s room. She looked up to find Anna, the old Italian woman who had been with them from Megan’s birth, watching her from the doorway.

  “What is it, Anna?”

  The old woman had said nothing for a moment, her face so wrapped in sadness that Catherine had thought she was going to weep. “I go with you and Meggie. You all alone. You need me.”

  Amazed at what the woman already knew, Catherine had wondered what else Anna understood. And she had been touched by the offer. Moving to the doorway she had taken the old woman’s hands in her own.

  “No, Anna, I can’t take you with me. Besides, Mr. Monelli may need you here.”

  The old woman’s dark eyes had turned fierce. “No, no work for him, never no more.”

  “Well, Anna, there’s just no way I can take you.”

  Suddenly stoic, the old woman had nodded and walked away.

  What will happen to Anna, Catherine wondered now as she turned a corner fast enough to hear her tires squeal. That was just one of the many things she could not know or control. Like what would happen to the beautiful home she had just left without even taking one last look? Or what would happen to her husband? She was already having trouble picturing him clearly in her mind’s eye. In fact, her most vivid image of Steven now was not what he had looked like on TV earlier, but instead her memory of his hands at the breakfast table that morning so many weeks ago when they had suddenly looked so cruel.