Beneath the Cracks

by LS Sygnet

  I rolled my eyes. "Honestly? I'm broken and barely out of Humpty-Dumpty mode and you're thinking about sex? What's wrong with you?"

  "I'm only eager for how ready you'll be for other things when the sling comes off. Maybe even a little desperate."

  I snorted. "Dream on, Orion. I lived without sex for years. I've never been desperate."

  "And I disagree. I was there, Helen, when your dry spell ended. Would it kill you to admit that you liked it more than you expected you would?"

  Instead of answering, I clamped my mouth shut and stared out the window for the duration of the ride home. Johnny helped me into the house, accepting the silent treatment without trying to bait me into response.

  We had barely stepped inside the door when the phone started ringing. "I think I can manage to walk to the telephone without help," I snapped. "If you want to be useful, get my hospital junk from the car."

  Johnny waited until he heard me answer the phone before going back out the door.

  "Hello?"

  "What's this I hear about you getting injured on the job, my dear?"

  "David." Suddenly my mood didn't feel so grumpy. I would've sworn the clouds outside parted and a few rays of genuine sunshine lit up the room. "I wanted to call, but I just got home from the hospital."

  "My goodness! How seriously were you injured? Should I be there?"

  I grinned. Leave it to Darnell to be stingy with the facts. "What were you told?"

  "That you were injured but would make a full recovery. You're starting to scare me, Helen. Please tell me that I haven't been the worst friend for failing to show up. Surely Commander Darnell would've told me if the injury was serious."

  "I was shot, David."

  "Helen!"

  "Technically Darnell told the truth. I'll be fine in a few weeks. Good as new. Johnny said you were on some big case. You did what you needed to do, I'm sure."

  "That's partly why I've been trying to get in touch with you for the past couple of days. Helen, you're not going to believe this."

  "Oh?"

  "It's really quite incredible. I don't suppose you were following the news much while you were in the hospital."

  "Not really, no. It was more of a watch-the-clock-for-pain-medication thing. Stop being dramatic and tell me what happened." Johnny walked past me with my bag. He pointed to the chair by the phone.

  Stubbornly, I refused. David was starting to explain his case anyway.

  "There's a facility outside New York City that processes garbage. They use something called anaerobic digestion to turn refuse into compost and biogas which can actually be used as an alternative energy source. So last weekend, there was an explosion out at this plant, and because part of the process results in biogas, which includes methane, nobody was surprised that it would be a federal issue right away."

  "Makes sense. How did it land on your doorstep?"

  "After the scene was controlled and the fire put out, the investigation started. A gun was found, and processed. Still nobody thought it was highly unusual. Some businesses have gun permits and so forth. What raised the first red flag was that this place was owned by a company linked to a company used as a front to launder money by an old friend of ours."

  I sat down. "Marcos?" Orion drifted back into the room for a moment before disappearing into the kitchen.

  "That's right. So there's a mysterious gun of unknown origin, at a company linked to Marcos. We started rubbing our collective chins. NYPD took the weapon and tried to perform ballistics testing on it, but the damage from the explosion and exposure to some sort of chemical compound they use in the plant rendered the weapon useless. They took it apart and examined what they could. You'll never guess what they found."

  Orion extended one hand with two white pain pills in it. In the other was a glass of water.

  "Hang on, David. Nurse Orion is demanding that I take my pain pills." I paused long enough to lay down the phone and keep my schedule of managing the dull roar in my shoulder from blazing into an out of control pain-fest. "All right. What did they find?"

  "Someone tried to alter the barrel of the gun by scrubbing it with a wool brush."

  "Didn't work?"

  "Oh, there's no way to tell for sure if the weapon could be linked to one specific crime. But it was a .22 caliber pistol, Helen. And you'll never guess…I mean, what are the odds?"

  "The odds of what?" Pain medication for five days was clearly fogging my ability to think clearly.

  "The ammunition in the clip, what was left of it, matched the casing found at the murder scene."

  "What murder scene?" Johnny continued to lurk around, in earshot, but not overtly eavesdropping.

  "Rick's. Helen, we believe we have the murder weapon. And you'll never believe this in a million years. When Darnell delivered Seleeby and he had his formal spanking for continuing to harass you, he mentioned some eye witness he supposedly dug up out of nowhere who allegedly saw you kill Rick." David paused and snorted, "As if this guy would ever make a credible witness even if we believed him."

  I was increasingly aware of Orion's interest in the conversation. "What are you saying, David?"

  "This alleged witness? He works for Marcos. You'll never guess where he spends a whole lot of time."

  "A waste management facility."

  My eyes met Johnny's, and for a second, I thought I saw a flash of panic.

  "Yes. His name is Eddie Franchetta, Helen, but his cohorts in the seedy world of organized crime know him as Eddie the Confessor Franchetta. He's a hit man for Sully Marcos."

  "David, I'm going to have to call you back."

  I hung up the phone and glared at Orion. "How dare you? You son of a bitch; you framed Marcos for murder, and now you've just made everything a million times worse!"

  Chapter 38

  "Listen, old man," Franchetta rasped into the phone. "You gotta quit calling. I got the feds breathing down my back like crazy right now. Do you really want this shit linking back to you?"

  He knew the assumption, fostered it greatly since the first time he'd reached out to have one of these little discussions with Eddie Franchetta. It served his purposes quite well to let the man believe that Wendell Eriksson was manipulating his every move from behind the impenetrable walls of Attica Correctional Facility. He counted on it, capitalized on the fear that a simple name could instill in a man like Franchetta, who arguably didn't fear a whole hell of a lot.

  Still, if he were to end up in say Attica, with a belief that Wendell wielded great power and influence, Franchetta had reason to believe that every guard in the place would look the other way should someone seek a little revenge for past sins of the Marcos family.

  "It doesn't matter to me one way or the other, Eddie. I'm in for life. New York state doesn't execute inmates anymore...well, not legally."

  "Shit," Franchetta muttered. "What do you want now?"

  Thin lips stretched over teeth that weren't quite as white and healthy as they used to be. "You told me that the gun in question was destroyed, left in little pieces over a twenty mile stretch of the Potomac River."

  "Yeah, and that's what happened. I swear to fuckin' God, Eriksson, I didn't take that weapon. I didn't stash it anywhere. Somebody set us up."

  "Hmm, so you say."

  "Why the hell do you care? The bitch –"

  "Ah-ah," the voice carried more than a subtle warning. "Choose your words wisely, Eddie. Even your master is counting on Helen as his trump card if all this plays out in the courts."

  "He can't..."

  The old man chuckled. "Yes, he can, and he will. There is so much you don't know, so much you couldn't possibly understand even if I did tell you everything."

  "Then why are we talking? Sounds like you're ten steps ahead of all of us."

  "Perhaps, but you still have value to me. Have you spoken to the FBI yet?"

  "Fuck no! Hell, man, didn't you hear me say they're breathing down my back? I'm holed up in a shit hole in Jersey City that not even S
ully knows about. I got no intention of lettin' them catch me."

  "But you can't get to the money, can you? And even if you could, Sully would know in a second who really embezzled that twenty million from him if you suddenly fell off the face of the Earth."

  "You think I don't know that?" Franchetta hissed.

  "But you talked to the FBI, Eddie. I know you did."

  Franchetta hissed smoke through his teeth and tossed his cigarette onto the filthy sidewalk in front of the run down store in the bowels of the slum he now called home. "Jesus," he muttered. "Exactly how well are you connected, Eriksson?"

  "You don't want the answer to that question. Tell me the truth. Did you, or did you not tell Special Agent Mark Seleeby the truth about what you witnessed last June when Rick Hamilton was murdered?"

  "I had no choice man. He –"

  "He figured out who really took Sully's money, offered you a deal that would let you keep it so long as you turned on Sully, and on Helen. Am I correct?"

  Franchetta felt the molecules of moisture pop on his forehead. They aggregated quickly and trickled into his left eye.

  "Silence shall be considered agreement, Eddie. Consequences for lies, however –"

  "Alright, alright," he rasped. "Seleeby said they'd do a deal, get me into Wit Sec, but I had to testify to every hit Sully ever ordered, that I had to give details where the bodies are buried so to speak, but that I'd get nothing unless I implicated your daughter."

  "Is that all?"

  "Yeah, man, I swear, that's all of it."

  "Who specifically did you speak to with the FBI, and did they get all of this on tape?"

  "No tape, I made sure," Franchetta said. "I met with Seleeby and some other suit I never saw before."

  "FBI?"

  "So they said."

  "And you're certain you weren't recorded?"

  "I'm dead ass positive," Franchetta said. "But if you're in this to look out for your kid, I gotta be honest. Seleeby almost acted like they were more interested in nailin' Eriksson than they were Sully. Maybe they got a thing about dirty agents. How the hell should I know, man?"

  It was precisely the information he needed. Letting Franchetta know that, would be a mistake of epic proportion. "You might've made an attempt to let me know this sooner, Eddie."

  "What for? Word on the street is that Seleeby is out of the investigation all together now."

  "Oh?"

  "Yeah," he muttered. "Some do-gooder, Soule or some such, is picking up where Seleeby left off."

  "Of course you plan to stay out of their reach, yes?"

  "Do I look like a fuckin' idiot to you?"

  "I'll presume that was rhetorical."

  "I got no death wish. You think I don't know what happens to me if I go down for any of this shit? I won't end up in some cushy state joint like you."

  He nearly snorted at the notion that Attica was cushy, or the idea that Wendell Eriksson was powerful or well liked, but as long it served his purpose to let the misperception stand, he'd capitalize on it.

  "I get charged by the feds and they will stick a needle in my arm. You feel me, old man? So pardon my French, but I'm way past giving a fuck about anybody else in this thing. The feds get their hands on me, and I'll sing for any deal I can to get me on the right side of this shit."

  The thin smile made its reappearance. Good. Definitely good. Franchetta was receptive to what must happen next. "Do try to stay out of their clutches, Eddie. If you thought it made Sully nervous to hear that Hamilton was scooped up, imagine how he'd react knowing they had you in custody."

  "Christ," he hissed.

  "Precisely."

  "What the fuck am I supposed to do? I can't hide from the feds forever."

  "Don't presume that Agent Seleeby didn't manage to record your statement in one manner or another when you spoke to him – without what he agreed to offer you in return for your testimony of course."

  "I'll recant. I'll say Sully ordered the hit, that it was one of the other guys he uses, anything."

  The old man's ears perked with interest. "Sully ordered it? Is that plausible?"

  "Anything's plausible. I could tell 'em I made the whole thing up, that I wasn't there, that I wasn't involved at all."

  "Or, you could confess to killing Hamilton yourself in return for immunity for your testimony against Sully Marcos – leave that embezzled twenty million completely out of the equation. After all, it's a small enough sum for a man like Marcos. I imagine he lost more in that explosion at his waste facility."

  "You must think I'm some kinda moron, Eriksson. I know what you want outta this. You wanna protect your daughter. The way I see it, if she hadn't interfered, Sully'd be completely in the clear. We'd have handled Rick our way, he'd have gone on believing Rick was the one who took the money, the feds wouldn't have a fuckin' leg to stand on where prosecuting Sully is concerned, and life would be good. I say hang the whole thing on the bitch."

  "No, no. Helen did Sully a favor, and you know he wasn't nearly as upset over the death of Rick Hamilton as he was the lost opportunity to recover his money. Think about this, man. What you want to do is implicate Sully, stay out of prison or the grave, and still keep your money. Helen isn't going to interfere with your ability to do all three things. She simply wanted her association with an ex-husband to stop interfering with her professional life."

  "How do I...shit. Shit! There's no way out now."

  "How long do you think you can continue to hide from the bureau?"

  "Hours? I dunno. They're the fuckin' FBI, man. You tell me. How long is it possible when they smell my blood in the water?"

  "Try to hold out as long as you can, and in the interim, I'll try to devise some plausible way to achieve your goals without implicating...well, you know who I'd rather be left out of all of this."

  "The bitch."

  "I think you should stop referring to her that way, Eddie, unless of course, you're prepared to muddle through this on your own?"

  "I ain't prepared for jack."

  "Very well."

  "If I'm flying so low I'm off their radar," Franchetta paused and frowned, "how the hell will you find me? How did you find me this time? Nobody has this phone number. Nobody. Christ, I'm already screwed, aren't I?"

  "Of course not. Do you honestly think that the bureau has any idea that I know what I know after all this time I've been out of circulation? I assure you, they do not. But, I can contact you even if you're in custody, Eddie, though it would be my distinct preference to see that you continue to evade capture."

  "And that's the thing that just don't gibe, Eriksson. Seems to me like you got a vested interest in seein' me rot right along with Sully. It never was your MO to let any of us slip through the cracks. If lady justice didn't get us, Eriksson would. Isn't that the way it went?"

  "Ordinarily yes," he said coldly. "But when Helen's future is at stake? Well, Mr. Franchetta, even I will make a deal with the devil to protect what belongs to me."

  Eddie lit another cigarette and dragged deeply. "So, the feds scoop me up and you can still get word to me, huh?"

  "Yes, certainly."

  "And how will I know this go-between is really from you?"

  "Because, Mr. Franchetta, Helen was not my only connection in the FBI."

  "You mean a fuckin' agent is gonna...will help you get your kid outta hot water for a murder she committed?"

  "That's precisely what I'm telling you. When one of them tells you that he wishes to discuss the merchandise, be prepared to receive my message. Now, unless I'm mistaken, you should probably be searching for another convenient little hidey-hole where you can continue to evade. Yes?"

  "Fuck," Franchetta muttered.

  The deafening silence of a broken connection gave the man pause, but not enough to reconsider the path they'd taken, the incalculable risks, the potential for mistakes and unforeseen players impacting the game. He smiled.

  Orion's visit to Attica was unexpected, but ultimately useful. Hell
, as paranoid as the Eriksson bitch was, it might send her into hiding too, should she ever find out what really happened. Then again, Kim Jackson's ineffective bullet would no doubt slow her down long enough for her to cause more problems in Darkwater Bay. And that was precisely the risk none of them were willing to take. She'd done too much already by completely exposing Jerry Lowe's incompetence, not to mention his crimes. There were much better uses for young girls after all.

  He picked up the phone and dialed again.

  "Yes?"

  "Good evening, sir. Just wanted to let you know that all is going according to plan with Franchetta. He offered a couple of interesting options for the Hamilton murder that I thought you should be aware of sooner rather than later."

  The leather chair creaked softly. "Oh?"

  "He could recant of course, claim that he wasn't there, that he was bluffing."

  "Not when the FBI thinks they have the actual murder weapon. Do we know if they do or not? Did Franchetta admit that he lied to your friend when you spoke last?"

  "He swears that he told me the truth, and it's one hundred percent consistent with what he told me and Seleeby when we met with him."

  The chuckle was cold and calculated. "And he hasn't figured out that you were the one that Mark took with him to make this little devil's deal to get Eriksson out of Darkwater Bay, out of our hair?"

  The man snorted softly. "He thinks I'm Wendell Eriksson, which is insulting enough, but no, he never heard my voice at that time. It'll be soon enough when my peers find his ass and I tell him how we're going to proceed with all of this."

  "You mentioned other options beyond recanting his eyewitness testimony. What were they?"

  "That Marcos ordered the hit, for one," with a disdainful chuckle. "Though it has merit. Franchetta is suggesting that he could've witnessed some other hitter in Sully's service who did the job. I'm looking at the file right now, sir. Seleeby didn't even look at anyone other than Helen Eriksson for this. "

  "Interesting. So if this recently discovered gun is the weapon, this other assassin might've kept it to use as leverage with Eriksson when the bureau inevitably considered her a suspect. Plausible. Is that everything?"