Franny recommends hot dogs from our favorite little spot up by the Westchester County Airport. All I can think about now is hot dogs with mustard and kraut, while Franny is rambling about this hot chick whose husband left her.
“Okay, Franny, okay, what happened and start at the very beginning. Give me dates, times, the players and everything else.”
Franny is elated. “According to the initial report taken in 1996, this twenty-year-old Hutchville woman reports her husband missing. Oh and by the way, Donny took the initial report as a detective.” The red flag rises instantly and I stop Franny in his tracks.
“Donny was working in the detective division in 1996. Why would he take the initial report? Patrol should have taken that report unless there were extenuating circumstances. And why the hell is a twenty-year-old getting married? She must be a head case or something.”
Franny keeps going. “Well, Donny did and probably because she was incredibly hot. Shit, the chief would have taken this report if he saw her.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. What’s her name?”
Franny has to think for a second. “It’s Theresa Delmonico. Well, that’s her married name. I don’t know her maiden name.”
I immediately halt Franny’s momentum. “Wait a second, this happened eleven years ago. We don’t even know if she still lives in town. The captain will never let us look into this, especially if the players aren’t local.”
Franny pulls over at our favorite hot dog vendor’s truck. Before we get out of the car he stops me. “What’s up with Cynthia? Where’s she off to?”
“You heard that message I left? Jesus, don’t you miss anything?” I’m shocked by how my brother is able to multi-task. “I thought you were reading your new case,” I said, awaiting the ball breaking I was sure to receive.
“Do you think it’s weird she’s disappearing for a few days? I mean, Matt, you guys have only been dating for a week. Did she tell you last night she was going away?” Franny speaks with true concern.
“No, but it’s the F.B.I. They have all kinds of shit going on. I don’t think it’s weird.” I may be trying to convince myself.
“Look, you’re my older brother. I’m just looking out for you. I know you, Matt. You’re in love, but you don’t even know this girl. Be careful.”
“Are you finished? I’m becoming ravenous over here. And thank you for worrying about me, but I’m fine. Let’s eat, kid.”
Louis Grecco has been boiling hot dogs here since we were kids. Louis is in pretty good shape for sixty and claims to have been a hot dog eating champion a long time ago down in Coney Island, Brooklyn. He loves to shoot the bull and never charges us a penny for his dogs. This always makes me uncomfortable, so I throw a ten dollar bill in his truck before he sees and make a quick exit.
“Hey, Longos, what’s going on?”
“Hey, Louie, how’s business on this glorious day?” Louie is the best. You don’t even have to order. He knows what you want and prepares it when he sees the car pull up. Franny climbs in and takes the driver seat of this van that has seen better days. I take my place and sit on the front dash.
A Westchester County, white hybrid car pulls up next to our car, and I can see Louie getting nervous. A small pencil pusher exits the vehicle, adjusting his tie as he makes his way over, carrying a clipboard. You can tell this guy is all business and is on a power kick.
“Mr. Grecco, your health department license has expired. You can’t serve any more hot dogs until you reapply.” My smile turns into a giggle as Franny takes the lead on this one without a second’s hesitation.
“Hey, pal, what’s your name?” Franny asks. The little man looks at us and has no idea the two men inside the hot dog van are Hutchville detectives, since we are wearing shorts and tees. It’s probably better for us anyway, as I can see this turning into a free-for-all. We look like we could be a couple of wise guys.
“My name, sir, is Josh Flink and this matter doesn’t concern you.”
Big mistake, I think to myself. Franny steps down and meets Mr. Flink outside the van.
“Mr. Flink, I have personally known Mr. Grecco my entire life and I eat his hot dogs every week. Is there anything we can do to expedite his license renewal?” I am impressed by Franny’s professionalism, but I know it is pointless with this little prick.
“No. Mr. Grecco has been warned and has failed to send in the proper paperwork by the expiration date.”
“Mr. Flink, do you know where you are right now?”
“Here we go,” I whisper out loud, awaiting some much needed entertainment.
“You are in the town of Hutchville. I understand that Hutchville is within Westchester County, but your presence is not welcome here anymore. Just to be clear, Mr. Grecco will be here selling hot dogs today, tomorrow and until he dies or chooses to retire. Do you understand me?”
Mr. Flink doesn’t budge and stands his ground. You have to give this guy some credit. He is standing toe to toe with Detective Francis Longo.
“No, sir, you’re wrong, sir. His hot dog days are over.” Mr. Flink pushes Franny to the side with his clipboard as he tries to hand Louie a notice.
“Mr. Flink, I can see you have some sort of sticker hanging from your rear view mirror. Plus, you weren’t wearing a seatbelt when you pulled over, also forgetting to use a blinker.”
Mr. Flink laughs. “What are you going to do about it?”
Franny doesn’t hesitate, pulling his gold shield from under his shirt. Mr. Flink gasps and knows he is busted. Franny walks over to our car and removes a ticket book that has seen better days. “Sir, may I have your driver’s license, vehicle registration and proof of insurance.” It’s Franny’s turn to be all business now. Mr. Flink tries to remedy the situation but is stonewalled. Franny fires off three traffic summonses quicker than I could have ever written. He hands the summonses to Mr. Flick who is turning redder than an August tomato.
Franny ends the conversation by saying, “If you ever come back here, I will arrest you for assault on a police officer, for hitting me with your clipboard. Pay your tickets asshole, and if you come to court to plea bargain them, I will arrest you on the spot. My arm hurts. Now run off before I change my mind.” Even Louie is laughing as Mr. Flink runs to his car and drives off in the completely wrong direction, almost causing an accident. Franny can’t help himself sometimes. Louie reassures the Longo boys, “Guys, the dogs are on me today, no arguments.”
After lunch, Franny is driving and continues to talk about this cold case that I have no real interest in undertaking.
“Franny, why would we look into a missing person case?” I’m getting annoyed. “Can’t we stick to the little bullshit cases we have? Wait and see. We’ll get something big.”
“Matt, a week later, after being reported missing, the husband’s body washes up ashore naked at Oakland beach in Rye, N.Y.”
“I remember that. What was the cause of death?” I ask, becoming somewhat intrigued.
“He was strangled with some fishing line.”
My phone is vibrating again and I answer, seeing it’s the boss. “Hey, Cap, what’s going on?”
“Matt, if I have to drag my ass in here on time the least you can do is bring me coffee when you’re late.”
“I’m sorry, Cap. We’re on our way back from lunch. Can I get you anything?” I hear the pain in his voice.
“Coffee, black, please. Are you guys sitting on Kepler’s apartment?”
“Yeah, Cap. Nothing to report.” I hate lying to my boss, but sitting on Kepler’s apartment is a lost cause.
The phone disconnects and Franny is still talking; and his driving is making me dizzy. We stop at Big Mike’s deli and pick up some much needed coffee. Big Mike is behind the counter munching on an Italian combo, while I pour three coffees at the self-serve counter. Franny stays in the car, reading his new found obsession.
“What’s up, Big Mike? How’s business?” I say, putting the top on the captain’s black coffee.
Mike has to finish chewing before he answers. “Good, Matt. Sorry to hear about Donny. I always liked him.” I instantly get red in the face.
“Thanks, Mike. Sometimes things happen for a reason.” I leave him with my mother’s favorite expression.
Upon our arrival at headquarters, I’m happy there are no news vans present. Give us some goddam peace and quiet. Damn vultures. Cover something else for a while. Captain Grassio is still shaken up about Donny’s death. I’m itching at the bit to drop the dime, but I can’t risk anything happening to my family. Franny and I take our usual seats. I hand Captain Grassio his coffee and refuse his twenty dollar bill. The captain always insists on paying, but he has done his fair share. The least I can do is buy him coffee. Franny immediately starts asking questions about his newest obsession. Captain Grassio has to really think to jumpstart his brain. Everybody drank too much last night and for different reasons.
“Detective, can you see how fucked up I am? Do you think I can remember anything about last night? How the hell can I remember anything that happened years ago? Get your mind on Kepler. He still may turn up.”
Franny would not let up, and the captain admired his tenacity, even though he had a heart pounding headache.
“Cap, do you mind if I look into it?”
“What’s the wife’s name?” Captain Grassio asks one question of Franny, probably to make Franny think he is interested.
“Delmonico, Theresa Delmonico.”
He “yessed” Franny to death, and we left him staring into space. The captain had much to deal with, especially with all the media attention surrounding Donny’s death and Leonard’s disappearance. It didn’t take long for the media to find out some dirt on the Mello family.
I walk into my office, hoping to take it easy for the rest of the day. My mind is numb to everything that has happened to me. No such luck, with a hungry-for-action detective walking practically on my heels.
“Matt, do you know the new bank teller down at the Chase on Main Street?”
Even though I want to relax for the remaining few hours, I know my brother is onto something. “Let me see that picture again,” I say, knowing damn well where he is going with this. As I glance over the photograph of Ms. Delmonico again, I notice a strong resemblance to a new bank teller at our local Chase branch.
“It’s her, right?” Franny’s expression is similar to that during his first visit to a strip club.
“It might be. I guess we should start with verifying if it’s her or not. The bank opens at 9 a.m. Monday morning; we will be there at eight-thirty.” I pass out at my desk, not once opening my eyes before it is time to go home.
Chapter Twelve: Sunday Dinner
September 2, 2007
The next day I make my way over to Mom’s for Sunday dinner. As I drive my old Jeep up the hill, I can see the telephone wire Franny and I used to kick field goals over. There’s no one in the street, but I can see us, him in his favorite Dallas Cowboy jersey and me in my Miami Dolphin jersey. We always laughed how two kids from New York could like out-of-state teams. I park my car on the hill and look down the rock road that leads to my best memories as a kid. Past the road is a hill overlooking my Little League baseball field, basketball courts and a swimming pool. All those memories are still fresh in my mind even after all these years. I wish it was these memories that visit my sleep every night instead of sick tales of death.
I just love hanging out with my parents. Dad is getting older, so every minute spent with him is special. I always wonder if he will live to see a grandchild. I walk up the black asphalt driveway, making my way to the first step. The front step is a little loose.
“Be careful, Matt, I have to fix that step.” I hadn’t noticed my dad, sitting with no shirt on, further down the veranda. He loved the heat and could sit for hours while sunning himself.
“Global warming is real, Dad. This weather is crazy. Where’s Franny? Make sure he helps you with that step. Those slabs are heavy.”
“Yeah, I know. He’s in the basement. I think he nailed two broads last night. The whole house was shaking. Your mother has a ton of laundry to do but won’t go down there.”
“Dad, come on, for real?”
“Matt, he’s crazy, your brother. They were screaming. Either he was killing someone and cutting them up or he was banging all night long.” Hearing my dad talk about sex is the worst. It makes me so uncomfortable. It always gives me a stomachache. He loves to reminisce about his teenage years in White Plains, N.Y., during the mid to late fifties. Whenever he talks about his “golden years”, as he calls them, I shut my brain off and refuse to listen.
I remember being fifteen. My dad came into my room to have the “talk.” Probably because I got busted masturbating into a sock or something worse. I knew a kid who used to put Vaseline inside the cardboard walls of a toilet paper roll. He got caught banging the toilet paper roll by his mother. He used to say, “Matt, easiest clean up there is. Just use the toilet paper to clog the other end.”
My father had started talking and I stopped him cold.
“Dad, I know all about it. We learned it at school in our health class.” I was relieved, but he made sure one point hit home.
“Matt, that’s great. Remember always to use a head gasket, got it. If you need them, let me know. I have a bunch.” I almost got away unscathed. The thought of my mom and dad using a condom was psychologically damaging for life.
My mother, hearing my voice, comes out the front door.
“Hon, put your shirt on. The sun is too strong today. Matthew, I made a turkey. I want to cook something different. Besides, I have to try out a new stuffing recipe. Thanksgiving is less than three months away.” My mother is fast. She is gone before I can answer.
“Come on, Matt, let’s grab a beer. Want to go spy on your brother?”
“Dad, come on.” We walk inside. It’s surprising how short my father has become. He always resembled a giant when I was a little kid, but his bones are shrinking. I had him by at least five inches.
As I sit at the kitchen table, I hear the basement door open just under the kitchen window. I need to confirm if Dad is telling the truth, or if he’s starting to lose it. I move towards the window and confirm the unbelievable.
“Dad, you were right, two girls.” I can’t believe that little shit brother of mine. He probably doesn’t even know their names.
“Told you, son. I still got it. I can hear a deer a mile away.”
The conversation shifts to the upcoming hunting season, and whether we will head up to our cabin in the Catskills. My dad is getting older and is unable to climb his tree stand. Franny and I have been talking about getting him a four wheel all-terrain vehicle for his birthday, which would make it much easier for him to get around.
The downstairs door opens. Franny comes strolling in, yawning and scratching his sack.
“Catch something?” I can’t help myself.
“No.” Franny is all smiles.
“Tired, huh? Did you go out last night?”
“Nope.”
The confused stare I give him demands more information. “Then who just left?” I know Franny isn’t dating anyone seriously. How did he pull two women?
“I called in an air strike.” I don’t even know what that means. My brother is a gigolo. He probably met them on the computer. You know what? I don’t even want to know.
My mother comes towards the table with a large plate. The turkey is huge and golden brown. She always has a smile on her face, especially seeing her family together.
“Is anyone else coming?” my father asks, looking puzzled long enough for Mom’s displeasure to blossom.
“No, why?” Mom fires back.
“This is a thirty pound turkey. There are four of us.” My mother’s face tightens around her eyes.
“My sons are hungry. Cut the turkey.” She is right. I’m starving. Thanksgiving dinner has always been my favorite, even when I was a kid. This is a September treat f
or me. Mom is practicing for the real thing. We eat together as a family. We cover everything from current events to sports; even what is happening at the senior center. It is a great afternoon.
****
September 3, 2007
“Sir, would you like more coffee while you wait?”
“No thanks, Louise,” P.J. says with a smile.
The young waitress is tiring from her shift. Her tables have not been so generous tonight. She regrets not wearing her other button top. It exposes more of her cleavage, which equals more tips. Early Monday morning at the White Plains Diner is not usually busy. The regular drunks are still making their way in from the bars that litter Mamaroneck Avenue. She sits at the counter thinking, When did these people get so cheap?
At exactly 1 a.m., in walks a very well-dressed business man, wearing a navy blue designer suit. He takes a seat with Louise’s regular and immediately the two men begin an intense conversation. The tall stranger looks familiar to Louise but she can’t place his face.
“Hey, P.J., what the hell is going on over there? I thought this was a done deal.”
“Calm down, George. It’s nothing to get excited about. They’re not going to find out the truth. Damn, I should never have called you.”
“You better make this disappear or I will make your life a living hell.”
“Now, George, let’s not get all high and mighty because of your position. I don’t give a shit about titles. Your family still lives in my town and don’t forget it. This problem will go away. You have my word. Those two brothers are on borrowed time already. They can’t be trusted, not any more. I have made all of the arrangements. Just be patient.”
“She’s back in town. My people have seen her. She can’t be questioned.”
“I know that, George. This is my problem right now, not yours. I’m on top of it.”
“What are your plans for them?”
“Why the hell would you want to know that information? Go save the whales and leave this to me.”
“P.J., I’m sorry, but my re-election is coming up this November. I’m down in the polls. My adversaries would kill for this chance.”
Back In Town (A Small Town Series Book 2) Page 9