Body on Pine

by DeMarco, Joseph R. G.

  “Be gracious, Matus.” The hand squeezed my jaw slightly so he could turn my face toward his again, which I still couldn’t see in the murky blackness of the backseat. “Mr. Fontana comes from a noble line. Is that not so? I can see this in such a face.”

  Hey, as far as I knew the only throne my family owned was in the bathroom. If this guy thought I was a prince, he was nuts.

  “Get your hand off me,” I mumbled best I could between the squeeze and the pain. “What the fuck do you want? Who are you?” My words were garbled.

  “A man of little importance,” the dusty voice wheezed. “Except, perhaps, to you in this moment.”

  “Yeah, how so?”

  “I carry a message. For you.”

  As if I couldn’t guess what it might be. I’d ticked somebody off and this was the result. I also bet if I could see Matus, he’d be the guy that spied on me and Shuster that night at the café.

  “Not impressed. You could’a picked up the phone.”

  “A sense of humor is a good thing,” the voice said, fading into the darkness. “…but not for you. Not now…”

  Matus cracked me again. He must’ve had a ring or keys or something sharp. I felt pain above my left eye and more blood trickled down my face.”

  “Do we have your attention now, Mr. Fontana?”

  “Spit it out and tell your boy to lay off. I meet him in a fair fight and he’ll see who’s got balls and who doesn’t.”

  “You are… tvrdohlavý… how do you say this in English?… pigheaded. Yes, you are pigheaded for such a pretty boy.” He sighed and I caught another whiff of spiced tobacco. “I will spit it out, as you say,” the man whispered.

  “I’m listening.”

  “You have the talent for making people nervous.”

  “Only if they have a reason to be.”

  “Ah, but sometimes you are making the wrong people nervous, nie?”

  “I never make the wrong people nervous… catch my drift?” I blinked away a drop of blood trying to slip into my eye.

  “This time you have.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Yes and no. Yes, it is too bad for you, if you keep going as you are…” He paused, coughed, cleared his throat. “And no, it will not be bad for you, if you go back to spying on little men who make life unpleasant for everyone with their petty desires.”

  “That your message?”

  “Do you know what is bieda?... No, of course you do not. Bieda is misery. And we can make your world misery upon misery. For you and your friends. Until we choose to end your life. And it will be our choice, Mr. Fontana. Make not the mistake of arrogance.”

  “Yeah you got a lock on bieda. I get it.”

  “Good. You are not so dumb as it would appear.”

  “Now it’s your turn…” I sat up as best I could with Matus keeping his death grip on my wrists. “You listen to my message. It’s simple: Fuck off! I don’t give up because some lackey in the shadows delivers a message of doom. Who owns you anyway?”

  He chuckled. It was an ominous sound, filled with confidence and cruelty.

  “You must’a really pissed someone off to be used as a messenger boy at your age.”

  “A pity.” He turned his head to face front. I could only see his hat as he turned. There must’ve been a signal of some sort. He grunted something I didn’t understand.

  The car skidded to a stop. Matus swung open the door, backed himself out. Still gripping my wrists, he yanked me out with him. He shoved me to the ground and kicked me in the ribs a few times. He spat words that sounded like “slaboch” and “buzerant,” as he kicked. At that point I wasn’t sure what I heard.

  He was about to continue when the dusty voice shouted his name, “Matus! Prist’!” Tall and lanky, Matus slowly stood back, foot poised for another kick. He stood back and the light caught his face. It was the same guy who’d spied on me and Shuster.

  The dry, raspy shout came again, “Prist!”

  Matus stood over me and glared.

  Once more the grating voice, “Matus!”

  The rugged blond turned toward the car and stepped in.

  His name echoed in my head “Matus.” It sounded kinda familiar, too. My head pounded with pain and that was all I remembered thinking before I blacked out.

  Chapter 25

  When I came to, blurry lights and black sky crowded my vision. I spit out some blood mixed with dirt, lifted my head and spotted a few scraggly bushes. Or what looked like bushes in the semi darkness. Cars whizzed by somewhere and there were more blurry lights above. Street lights. The sedan was gone but a few other cars were stationed here and there. I realized they’d dumped me in an open parking lot. But where?

  Slowly I sat up, my ribs were on fire but I didn’t think anything was broken. My head ached and there was blood. Fresh blood oozed and dried blood covered my face and clothes. I remembered Matus knocking me around and felt a dark raging anger rise in me.

  The pain in my head led the symphony of hurt I felt. I forced myself to think through all the pain throbbing through me with every move I made.

  First things first, I told myself. I needed to know where they’d left me. Standing proved easier than I’d imagined until the tsunami of nausea and dizziness hit. I sank to my knees and upchucked whatever was in my stomach and then some. My ribs were like knives slashing my insides every time I retched.

  After a moment, I inhaled a painful breath, swiped the back of my hand across my lips, and tried standing again. The nausea had subsided and I was able to get my bearings.

  A short distance away was the Dockside residences, somebody’s clever idea to make a condo building look like a cruise ship. I was in no condition to appreciate much but the slick architecture did provide a location. Turning around I faced the opposite direction which had to be North. Dusty Voice and friends had left me in an open lot near the I-95 ramp on Columbus Boulevard. With bushes and other parked cars giving them some cover, who’d have noticed what they were doing at three in the morning? They’d probably made a nice clean getaway onto I-95.

  I had little choice but to hoof it over to Spruce Street a few blocks north, which was the nearest street connecting the center of town with the riverfront. My cell phone was intact and I checked the time. At near four in the morning there were few cars and fewer pedestrians. Just as well, looking bloody and beaten wouldn’t make a good first impression.

  As I trudged home, I thought about what had happened and who’d made it happen. That was the sticking point. Both Matus and the wheezing mystery man had accents. Accents that sounded awfully like Olga’s, which meant they were probably Eastern European. That covers a lot of territory but not so coincidentally, it happened to be Branko’s home turf. At least before he decided to come to the States and play mobster.

  That made it easy to assume it was Branko who’d sent his minions to deliver the message. An assumption that was way too easy to make and I felt it was the wrong instinct to follow. Where was the percentage for Branko in stopping my investigation? Besides, even if I took him and his boys seriously and stopped, the cops were doing their own investigation and wouldn’t stop. Unless Branko had some of them in his pocket which I found impossible to believe in Giuliani’s case. She might hate me, but she was an honest cop.

  Thoughts and suppositions ran circles in my head as I walked. The night was quiet and a chill had crept into the air which felt good. Once I reached the residential part of Spruce Street, my thoughts were so tangled I decided it’d be better to forget everything, get to sleep, and let my mind work on it overnight. I kept trudging.

  Downtown Philly was quiet and empty at four in the morning. I liked walking through center city late at night. Liked it better without the lacerations, blood, and pain. In a little while people would start trekking to work but at that moment, everything was peace. Everything except my bones which were singing a hellish tune.

  When I finally entered my condo building half an hour later, I passed Grace who was
working the desk. Even tough-as-nails Grace winced when she saw me.

  “Looks that bad, huh?” I hadn’t thought about the caked blood on my face and shirt since I’d picked myself up off the ground.

  “Who won the fight?”

  “The fight?… Oh.” I laughed. “You should see the other guy.”

  Grace chuckled as I headed for the elevator. I was whisked up to the forty-first floor and couldn’t get to my door fast enough.

  ***

  The next morning came painfully into focus as I lay in bed staring at the whirling ceiling fan. I remembered taking a hot shower before I’d fallen onto the bed and blinked out for what was left of the night. Next thing I knew, I was staring at the ceiling fan. The pain I’d ignored as I trekked home the night before roared through me now. Every rib had something to say, and the cuts on my lip and head added their own embellishments. I knew if I moved, I’d get a whole new perspective on what it meant to be a masochist.

  There was no choice, though. I had work to do, and neither Matus nor his ancient amigo were going to stop me. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and attempted to sit up without my head tumbling off my shoulders. That seemed to work. Big headache but my head stayed attached to the rest of me.

  Stumbling over to the shower, I thought about the night before and the old man swathed in shadow. Mostly I remembered his enforcer Matus.

  Matus. Tumblers began falling into place in my head. Matus. I remembered how familiar that name had seemed. The old guy made it sound more like Matuzz.

  That’s when it hit me. Matuzz or something very like it was the name Brad’s client and Charlie remembered hearing. The Matus who’d kicked me around had to be the one who had pounded on Brad’s door at the spa. If I was right, then Brad’s abusive ex was off the hook. For now. Didn’t mean I wouldn’t try finding Max Gibson some other time. He still had a lot to answer for.

  Now I had a different avenue to explore. If the Matus who’d been after Brad, was actually the same guy working for Dusty Voice and his unknown boss, that opened a lot of new doors. Some unnamed boss had not only given orders for the little party they’d thrown for me in the car but had been involved in a lot more. Who was behind Matus and his friends and why? Was it Branko or was there someone on the outside working with Branko? Or, was it someone else with a different agenda?

  Another hot shower pelted all the pain into a temporary numbness. After coffee and some oatmeal, I was on the way to my office feeling less foggy-headed. I paused when I stepped out of the building and looked into the clean blue sky. May was proving better every day. No rain, clear skies, and gentle breezes. Of course, nothing was perfect and with the primary a short couple of weeks away, campaigning politicians had negative effects on air quality. I took a deep breath anyway, winced from the pain in my ribs, and felt grateful the goons hadn’t done worse damage. I was ready to dive back in despite the old guy’s warning.

  I noticed a gaggle of people on the corner of Broad and Locust directly in my path. As I drew closer, I saw Senator Bob Terrabito standing with a reporter in front of a KYW News van. Senator “Smiles” had drawn a crowd, but he looked annoyed. Without his signature smile it was as if he were naked, a thought I didn’t need first thing in the morning.

  I inched closer to hear what stole the Senator’s smile.

  “…saying it’s a virtual dead heat between you and Kelley,” said a reporter jamming a microphone into Terrabito’s face.

  “Polls are just that. Polls. A snapshot of the moment,” Terrabito said. “The only poll that counts is the one on election day.”

  “Rumor has it you’ve lost ground because of the public’s perception that you’re in bed with the developers who want to significantly change the city’s downtown. Any comment?”

  “Then it’s an awfully crowded bed. Everyone wants the city developed to its fullest potential. Every official I know has the best interests of the city and the Commonwealth at heart. If that means changing so that Philadelphia becomes a more competitive place where major corporations want to locate their operations, then I’m guilty… of loving the city where I was born.” Terrabito’s face showed the strain of a long campaign, but he knew how to give as good as he got.

  The reporter started to ask another question but Terrabito cut him off.

  “I’ve got a meeting in the Doubletree. Sorry, boys and girls.” He stalked off, followed by his assistants who fended off reporters trailing behind.

  I got the gist of what was happening and even why Senator Smiles wasn’t grinning today. I’d make sure Olga did another search on him.

  I moved carefully past the political mob pushing its way into the hotel, making sure my newly bruised ribs didn’t get hit again. I marveled at Terrabito’s fortitude. There had to be something other than brass balls allowing politicians to do what they did and take the endless crap they took. Not that I admired any of them, because if it wasn’t brass balls that kept them going, it was something darker and much worse. I didn’t think I’d like it if I saw it exposed to the light.

  My ribs ached when I arrived at my office, but I told myself it’d go away soon.

  “Boss!” Olga stood as if she’d been shot out of her seat and came around to stand in front of me. “What has happened, zaychik moy? You are not making shaving cuts.”

  “Can’t get away with that, huh?”

  “Olga is not being fooled.” She stood on her tip toes to get a better look at the cuts on my face and head. “Boss is all right?”

  “Been better, but I’ll be okay.” I smiled and pecked her on the cheek, though bending to do that made me wince.

  “Boss is needing Olga’s tea. And sitting.” She opened my office door and shooed me in. “Olga makes tea, Boss waits in soft chair.” She shot me a stern look and waddled out of the room.

  My desk was still piled with Olga’s folders. The beating had rattled me, and I struggled to remember what I’d been doing with those folders. I finally recalled I’d been sorting out entanglements between developers and others. I’d made notes, luckily, and reading those would get me back on track.

  After a few moments with my notes, I remembered I’d been thinking the developers had some cozy money connections that I needed to explore. Since I’d already asked Nina for financial records on these guys I felt I had things covered. Between her research and Olga’s, something would pop.

  I pulled the telephone around so I could sit in my softest chair and still do some work. I picked up the receiver and dialed.

  “Infomonkeys.” Deena had the sweetest mean voice. Monotone and a little psychotic. Very scary.

  “This is Marco. Is Nina there? I need to talk to her.”

  “Marco who?” I tried detecting some sign of mischievous glee in her voice. There was nothing. Which was strange because I knew she took pleasure in breaking balls.

  “Fontana. Marco Fontana. Remember me? Does staring into a computer monitor cause permanent memory loss?”

  “Niiiiinaaaaaa,” was her response.

  After a moment, Nina picked up.

  “It’s Marco. And don’t ask Marco Who? or I’ll—”

  “Deena’s playing with you. You should see her face right now,”

  “I’d rather see what info you’ve got for me.” I winced from the pain in my ribs.

  “Sure, jefe. You’re all business today.”

  “After the night I had, Nina… You ever been drop kicked by a goon with sadistic tendencies?”

  “No, can’t say I have, jefe.”

  “I’ve got the fractures to prove it. It’s painful to talk… so…”

  “Sure, sure. I’m gonna shoot this to your computer right now. I’ll call back in ten to go over it with you.”

  “Thanks, Nina. I owe you…”

  “No. This is on the house, remember?”

  I hung up after thanking her and leaned my head on the chair. It might not have been the best idea to get out of bed.

  “Tea is coming,” Olga said, mug clinking again
st the teapot on the tray she carried. I spotted some pastry she’d obviously spent a lot of time making, and felt my stomach growl.

  “Smells delicious, Olga.”

  “Yesterday, I am making kartoshka and pryaniki and thinking Boss will like. But now cut on mouth is making difficult…” She placed the tray on my desk.

  “It won’t stop me from eating those goodies,” I said. “Don’t worry, sugarplum.”

  She poured me a cup of sparkling green liquid, which she’d made from her personal reserves of tea, and handed me the mug.

  “Only tea today. Is better. Coffee is doing no good when Boss is looking like he loses fight with tractor.”

  Without another word, she left the room.

  I stood and moved to my desk chair. It wasn’t as comfortable as the soft one but it was the only way I could easily look at Nina’s material. Pulling up the file she’d emailed, I saw it contained more pages than I expected. Nina had outdone herself.

  Sipping tea, I paged through the material. Nina had apparently hacked through some high-security set ups to get this information. I’d’ve felt concerned except I knew she was beyond the reach of mere mortal authorities when it came to this stuff.

  I noticed banking information with Brad’s name heading it up. It appeared he had several accounts. Could be innocent but then again… Even if Brad was dizzy at times, this looked strange. There were also pages of financial information on Wheeler and Berwick and a host of their associates.

  Before I reached the end of the file, Olga buzzed the intercom. “Boss is wanting to talk to Nina the Greek?”

  “Put her through, Olga. And give yourself a raise, the kartoshka looks terrific!”

  “Raise? Knock on head of Boss is more serious than I am thinking.”

  I picked up the receiver.

  “Get a chance to look at the file?” Nina asked.

  “Looking at it right now, guapita. You outdid yourself.” I took a sip of tea. “I know you’re good, but this is amazing.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re gonna want more?”

  “Because you’re smart. Let’s talk about what you have here.”