Back In Town (A Small Town Series Book 2)

by Marc A. DiGiacomo

  “I’m sorry about last night. Franny is new at his job.”

  “Just kidding, Matt. I know the deal. Any more prisoners go missing today?”

  “No, just that one. It’s kind of a sore subject. Besides, I saw a few of your agents today at the station.”

  “Yeah, I heard. They are from our White Plains office. I don’t know them.”

  “Well, Captain Grassio rolled out the red carpet for them.”

  “That’s not what I heard, Matt.”

  “So, how was your day?” I did my best to change the subject. I didn’t dare tell Cynthia what I observed on the videotape.

  Cynthia looks smoking hot. She is wearing a black skirt, a light blue, striped, buttoned shirt and jet black heels. I have to help her as her left three inch heel gets caught in between cracks in the sidewalk. I can’t help but smile. Any excuse to touch her is welcome.

  “Nice grab, Matt. It’s always better to learn early on that I am a mega-klutz.” I laugh at her misfortune, but I’m able to save her heel from snapping off. Cynthia has amazing legs and I can only imagine how many agents within the F.B.I. have struck out with her. A jealous person is something I am not. However, I haven’t had a friend like Cynthia in a while.

  “Come on, Matt, haven’t you had enough of me? Dinner two nights in a row. I’ve never done this before. This place better be good or you won’t get my dessert,” Cynthia says jokingly.

  Her sense of humor is remarkable for a federal agent working in organized crime. I’m impressed by her one liner. One would think she would be dry and serious all the time. She’s the complete opposite of what I envision a federal agent to be. The few I have encountered are boring and stiff. They think they are better than us local cops. When I finished Westchester Community College, I inquired about applying to the F.B.I. I was told my associate’s degree wasn’t good enough. That’s okay. I would rather handle the garbage here in Hutchville than chase some nut job all over the world. Cynthia is just the person I was looking for in a world of so many unknowns.

  Roberto’s is my favorite Mexican restaurant of all time. What makes it even better is that it’s within walking distance of my apartment. My family has come here since Franny and I were teenagers. The restaurant has been a staple within the Hutchville community for the last twenty years. There is usually a crowd, but not tonight. Roberto opens the door to greet us and sits us at a corner table, very close to the front window. I never put my back to the door, so I pull Cynthia’s chair out for her. She sits and begins to scour the menu. The restaurant is slow on this Thursday night. There is a nearby table of seniors enjoying their desserts. I don’t recognize any of them and I’m happy about that. It’s not often I can sit down for dinner at a restaurant in my hometown and not run into somebody. Cynthia immediately starts asking questions.

  “Matt, so tell me, why did you become a police officer?”

  “The last time I answered that question was in the police academy. Uhm, let’s see, to help people, I guess. Why did you join the F.B.I.?”

  “I’ve always wanted to see justice served no matter how long it takes.”

  “Oh, I thought maybe you saw Silence of the Lambs and wanted to be Jodie Foster.” Cynthia laughs. Her cheeks flush red.

  “That’s my favorite movie, but I never got into behavioral sciences within the bureau. I keep getting passed up in that department. Organized crime was always second. However, I just got word I’m being reassigned to the Joint Terrorism Task Force.”

  “Hunting terrorists. I hope I had nothing to do with that move.”

  “Well, my supervisors gave me orders not to talk to you about Donny. They felt that a small town detective couldn’t be trusted with that information, and the case against Donny Mello was more important than your life. As you can clearly surmise, I went against those orders because I had a feeling about you. So now I have to pay the consequences for my actions.” I don’t know what to say. I’m upset for Cynthia, but she saved my life. All I can do is be thankful she did what she did.

  “I’m truly sorry, Cyn.”

  “Don’t be. I did the right thing. Fuck ’em. I can’t stand bureaucratic bullshit. You’re a cop, just like me. So tell me about your family. When we first met, your brother was howling on the porch; or was he barking?”

  “You mean the amazing surveillance detail you orchestrated. Let me give you some pointers. Always put a few buffers between the target vehicle and yourself. Plus, when you’re slouched inside your car, get real low. Don’t sit upright.” Cynthia had a great laugh. It was contagious.

  “Oh, you’re the expert, huh? Okay I’ll remember that.”

  “Why yes I am. I’ve had the displeasure of pissing in many empty coffee cups while on surveillance.” Cynthia gasps. Her laughter attracts the attention of everyone in the room. I’m thrilled she has a sense of humor. I bring the conversation back to my kid brother.

  “Franny is Franny. You got a great dose of him that day. He’s the toughest kid brother I know, a natural cop who can smell a dirt bag a mile away. His narcotics work is exemplary, but now he’s all mine in the bureau, thanks to Donny dying.”

  “And how do you feel about Donny’s death?” Cynthia stares, waiting for my answer.

  I take a deep breath. This isn’t going to be easy to get out. But the truth is always better than hiding something. I owe it to Cynthia. She saved my life. Maybe I should just let the postcard speak for itself.

  “Let’s rewind. On Monday I came back to work after being shot by what I thought may be some crack head I locked up, only to dive head first into a rape investigation with my partner who happens to be my best friend. Next, I meet you and find out my partner and buddy, Donny Mello, is responsible for shooting me. Then he dies or whatever. I’m running around on train tracks with a guy who is living a double life and, to top it all off, I’m going to his funeral tomorrow. Well, some poor sap is getting buried tomorrow.” I can’t lie to her, not after everything she has done for me. Cynthia puts her head down and I sense a change in the air.

  “Cyn, I want to be upfront with you. I don’t want to start things off keeping anything from you. The very day of Donny’s car accident, I received this postcard in my mailbox and I’m pretty sure it’s from him.” Cynthia doesn’t blink. She bites her lip, and I watch closely as I slide the card across the table towards her. She keeps her head down. She picks it up and scans both sides.

  “P.F., huh. Paolo Fretti. Then who is in the car. His remains were confirmed by dental records. That is as solid as a fingerprint.”

  “I know, Cyn, but Donny was not in that car. I can feel it. Isn’t it suspicious how quickly they matched the records? You and I both know it takes time for a proper analysis to be done. This was a closed case, summarized within twenty-four hours.”

  “The right forensic odontologist can do it rather quickly.”

  “It seems shady to me.”

  “Matt, you are a detective, a natural skeptic. Anything can seem shady. But you have to trust the experts. This card is probably a prank of some sort.”

  “A prank by who? If it’s not Donny, then I have absolutely no clue as to its sender.” I’m trying not to become agitated. It’s hard to describe feeling strongly about something, even when the evidence points in a different direction.

  “Matt, Donny could have sent that card while he was in Italy attending his grandfather’s funeral. It takes time for mail to make its way across the Atlantic Ocean. Maybe it’s just coincidental you received that the day of his accident. Anyway, the funeral is tomorrow. Are you going?”

  “Of course. I have to go. My whole department is going. Donny’s aunt, Zia Maria, wants me to take her. She is a sweet lady and completely innocent in this whole thing. If she knew what Donny did to me she would beat his ass with a wooden spoon.” Cynthia laughs. Humor is required while having serious discussions. We continue to talk through dinner. Our conversation covers all the bases, family, ex-lovers, college, and, of course, work.

  Afte
r dinner, I walk Cynthia back to my apartment. There’s no way I am letting her out of my sight. The six sangrias we shared throughout the night have done the trick. Our hands are bound together perfectly. Normally, at this moment, I would be stuttering like a buffoon, but the red wine has taken away the anxiety of date night. My eyes fixate on her legs as they stride the pavement. It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone this special in my life.

  As I push open the lobby door, Cynthia walks in first, with me watching her every move. It’s easy to get excited. She is hot. An old porno flick plays out in my mind. It’s a scene I hope to experience tonight. My key finds the hole in a flash as I unlock and open the heavy metal door. I close it even faster as I twirl Cynthia around and kiss her. I can taste the sangria on her lips and have difficulty pulling away. Cynthia pushes me away with a smile. I playfully fall into my favorite chair. I sense my greatest fantasy may occur in the next few minutes. There’s just enough moonlight making its way into the living room.

  Cynthia is dancing, slowly. There is no music playing but my mind is thinking of that cheesy porno music from the eighties, with a saxophone booming the high notes. She starts with her top, pulling the buttons out of their holes. It’s almost impossible to stay seated as my primal urges are driving me wild. Her eyes never leave mine. She is so gorgeous. Cynthia’s bra matches her shirt and is an electric blue. I can see her darkened nipples through the bra and am not surprised by their ripeness. She turns her back to me. Her hair whips around and falls to her shoulders. Cynthia dangles her bra from one finger and drops it to the floor. I feel like an eighteen-year-old boy waiting for my first strip club lap dance. I just hope I don’t spray the inside of my pants before I make it to the big game.

  She keeps dancing slowly as she turns to face me. She crosses her arms on her chest to cover-up. As she struts over, I start taking off my shirt. Cynthia stops me, pulling on my belt. So much for anymore foreplay, as my jeans are off in a split second. She sits on top of me, kissing me the whole time. It’s a moment I never want to end as the rhythm intensifies. I am suddenly afraid my favorite chair will collapse from this delightful encounter. I pick Cynthia up in my arms and carry her into the bedroom. We find my bed together and continue our loving embrace.

  Afterwards, I find myself watching this beautiful creature sleep. What if I have a nightmare? How will Cynthia react to my nighttime horror show? It’s not something I want to find out. Besides, the funeral tomorrow is making me anxious. I can only imagine the horrible dream that is waiting for my heavy eyelids to close.

  I’m certain Donny is alive but have not a clue as to his whereabouts. If Cynthia never appeared into my fucked up life, then I would be truly saddened over my friend’s death. I would believe it was all true. The image of Kepler being escorted out of headquarters at gun point would have been just that. I would never have suspected it was Donny. He never wore white sneakers around me or the station. Matt, forget about all this stuff and get some sleep.

  I have never been played in my life the way Donny schooled me. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the bottle. My shoulder is healed, no more discomfort, and yet I am still experiencing the urge to pop some pain medication. I reach for the bottle and am pissed it is empty, with no chance of a re-fill without a doctor’s visit. Damn pharmaceutical companies. They own us. I can’t help but smile as I look upon Cynthia Shyler. She sleeps so peacefully. It’s hard not to be envious. The blinking of both of my eyes becomes more frequent until they no longer flutter.

  Chapter Nine: Dead Man In A Box

  August 31, 2007

  The wailing sound of bagpipes chills me to the bone. Those instruments should be renamed the death pipes. The view at the Hutchville cemetery this morning is unbelievable. There are close to five hundred police officers present, standing in multiple lines of blue. Almost every department in the New York Metropolitan area has at least one officer here. They’re all here for a different reason than me, believing that the person lying in the casket is one of their own brothers in blue. I know better. Whoever the poor slob is inside that box died a horrible death at the hands of a puppeteer. I may never learn his name or whatever he did to Donny to deserve such a raw deal. Part of me wishes I could have saved him, but then it might have been me trapped inside. You only get lucky once in this line of work.

  The humidity on this late-August morning is more common in mid-July. My white T-shirt is glued to my chest. The sweat is dripping down my back and legs. I hate being in uniform, especially for a twisted charade like this one. My police hat attracts the sun to every corner of its brim. I watch as sweat drips from my brow, finding its mark in the green grass. The weather is all screwed up these days. Summer is desperately trying to hold on and in the most scathing way.

  My hope is that Donny is burning in hell, but even Satan couldn’t trust him. There is no one evil enough to house the likes of Donny Mello. His welcoming party in the afterlife would be awaiting him with a variety of tools designed for torture. I am just as anxious to send him there. An eye for an eye. He shot me, I survived. I shoot him, he will die.

  My eyes move to the waves of blue uniforms standing motionless throughout the cemetery. I wonder how quickly their attendance would change if only they knew the truth. I start to daydream and am pulled suddenly back to reality when the guns start popping. What a nice tribute to a common criminal. If I could jump into the casket and take a shit on the corpse I would, without hesitation. Chief Tim Ramsey would love that. But why disgrace an innocent man. Detective Donny Mello has tricked every cop at this funeral except two. Franny would never believe it was him, even after the dental records confirmed the unbelievable.

  Newly promoted, Detective Francis Longo walks up to his big brother as the festivities end, while Father Murphy makes his final blessing over a murdered corpse. Franny cracks a quick joke about my attire.

  “Look a little chubby under there, pal,” Franny says, tapping my larger than usual pot belly. It has been a while since I wore my blue dress uniform and fare much better with expandable waist slacks.

  “Cynthia likes to eat,” I say.

  Franny brings the heat. “How many dates have you had? You guys have gone out how many times again? And when do I get to meet this mystery lady?”

  “Franny, it’s not the quantity, it’s the quality. Besides, you screwed up the first date. The detective division is about protecting the paper trail, bro. I ain’t got time for mistakes.” Before I can say anything else I feel a slap on my ass and turn to find a very teary-eyed friend.

  “Captain Grassio, how are you holding up?”

  “Detectives, this sucks in every way imaginable. I hope I never see another one of these in my life.” Captain Grassio walks off, wiping tears from his eyes, holding his pretty wife’s hand.

  Hutchville Police have arranged a luncheon at O’Neil’s Tavern for all the police agencies who attended the funeral. Officers Chris Finley and Benny Triano are there before we arrive, breaking the new guy’s chops. Newly appointed police officer Edward DeLuca is clearly a nervous wreck because of what he is witnessing. His training officer, P.O. Chris Finley, is talking to the bartender, who has seen better days. Chris’ war stories are the funniest I have ever had the pleasure of listening too.

  I can overhear Chris ask, “Honey, do you want to play hide the bologna?” To my astonishment the bartender gives him a kiss on the cheek. Chris has obviously been drinking all day, judging by his swaying at the funeral.

  Benny chimes in, “Matt, you owe me twenty bucks, man. I told you Chris wouldn’t fall down.”

  I reluctantly cough up a fresh Andrew Jackson and Chris reaches over and takes it. “Never bet on me brother. Make it hot,” Chris slurs from the corner of his crooked smile.

  Franny, Benny and I can’t help but laugh because Chris never makes sense when he is hammered. But he is damn funny. Chief Ramsey walks over to our exclusive group and rips a fart that would melt metal. Officer DeLuca is the only one who remains in character; most
definitely because he is the newest officer in the department.

  “Fellas, no boozing while you’re drinking and watch out for voodoo women. They will ruin yah.” The chief staggers over to the nearest table, falls into an uncomfortable wooden chair. Franny walks over to make sure he is still alive. Captain Grassio sees the spectacle and staggers over, feeling no pain.

  “Hey, guys, listen up. You guys are the heart of this department now. No one comes into this town and takes a piss without me knowing about it, understand?” Officer DeLuca is the quickest with his “Yes sir,” followed by Franny’s salute.

  “DeLuca, you got a lot to learn before you can hang out with this crew.”

  The captain leaves as fast as he came, taking a seat next to the chief who looks to be in a self-induced coma of sorts. I can see drool dripping from his mouth; as long as it’s not blood, he should be okay.

  Chris leans over to Franny and asks to see his “gold tin.”

  “Come on, pal, let me see it. It’s the only badge I ever want to get,” Chris manages to say, as he drips some draft beer on Franny’s shoes. Franny reluctantly whips out his new shiny gold pin and the boys immediately “OOOH” and “AAAH”, with Franny getting more annoyed by the second.

  Benny walks over to the captain, who is almost nodding off after five hours of straight drinking. “Hey, Cap, when are we going to hire some hot women cops for us young guys?” Benny always had big balls and it takes a real man to ask the important questions.

  “Hot chicks for you dicks? I don’t think so. Do you really want to get jammed up that way?” The captain knows our all male department is going to change in the near future. There are several young ladies on the police officer list and we desperately need female police officers.

  Chris Finley jumps in, “Come on, Cap, nothing like a fist rocket while training a new chick recruit on patrol.”

  Chief Ramsey, who appears to be sleeping, pops his head up and asks, “What’s a fist rocket?”