by F. P. Lione
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said tiredly. I wasn’t up for one of her man-bashing tirades.
“Nothing. Drink your coffee, I want to show you something,” she handed me the envelope.
I opened it up and stared at it for a couple of seconds before I realized what it was.
A private investigation agency with a Coney Island Avenue address was printed on top of a three-page report. There were pictures of Marie and Bobby Egan kissing, holding hands, and going into and out of an apartment. There was also a copy of an apartment lease with Marie and Egan’s name on it, dated May 1, 2000.
According to the investigator’s report, Marie and Bobby Egan were at it hot and heavy. Egan was older, in his late forties, twelve years older than Marie. I guess she had a daddy complex, since both my father and her first husband were a lot older than she was.
Egan was married, had three kids, and lived in Massapequa. He had a son in college and two daughters in high school. His wife worked for a lawyer in Roosevelt Field.
Eight months ago, he and Marie signed the lease for a studio apartment in Bay Ridge. As I read through the report, I learned they drove in to work together every day. Marie took the bus in to Bay Ridge, and Egan picked her up on 92nd Street on his way in from Long Island. They had lunch together every day at a place in Chinatown and then drove back home the same way.
They went to the apartment after work two of the days they were followed, and Egan brought her back to 92nd Street, where Marie hopped a bus back home.
“Interesting reading, huh?” Denise asked.
“You did this?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Where’d you get the money?”
“Sal gave it to me,” she said.
“I thought you weren’t seeing him anymore.”
“I’m not. I told him I couldn’t pay my rent this month, and he gave me a couple of grand to help me out. He probably did it out of guilt. He said I didn’t have to pay him back.” She shrugged like she didn’t care.
I thought about the time frame. Eight months ago when they signed the lease, Marie was busy pushing my father to take the house from my mother. After the sale of the house, my mother and father each walked away with over a quarter of a million dollars. If Marie divorced my father, she’d get half of it.
Her getting half of it wasn’t what concerned me, her taking everything out of the account was more her style. I knew she’d never let my father keep the money in anything but a joint account, and I was afraid she would empty it before she took off with Egan.
“Don’t tell Dad,” Denise said.
“Why not? If you didn’t want Dad to know, why’d you do it?” I asked, shaking my head.
“I knew Marie was fooling around on Dad. I just wanted proof,” she said, smiling. “And when Marie empties Dad’s bank account and leaves him for Egan, I want Dad to know I knew all along,” she said with contempt.
“Why? That’s putting salt in his wounds,” I said.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me Christmas Eve, Tony. I hate Dad and I never want to see him again, and if he dies, I’ll go to his funeral in a red dress and I’ll dance on his grave,” she said as she looked at me. I saw anger there, and a coldness I’d never seen before.
“Does Mom know?” I asked, hoping she had nothing to do with this.
“She knows. She tried to talk me out of it. She said she’s forgiven Dad, water under the bridge and all that. What about you, Tony? What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “If it was me, I’d want to know.”
“Me too. He could fall on his friggin’ face for all I care. I’m not telling him, and I don’t want you to either. I’ll tell him when the time is right.”
I didn’t know how my father would deal with Denise knowing this and not telling him. My father’s not stupid, and I had a feeling he already knew about Marie.
On the other hand, if he didn’t know, he might lose it if he found out. You never know how it could go in this kind of situation, and I didn’t want my father killing Marie or Bobby Egan. I decided to wait, talk to Fiore, and pray about it.
Michele and I are doing great. We haven’t seen the family since Christmas Eve. It helps that at this time of year there aren’t many holidays, and I have some time before the next round of them. We decided that if we did go see my family, Stevie would stay with a babysitter. She told me to go without her, but then my father would think he got his way. We’ll go together, and if things don’t get any better, I’ll have to make a decision from there. Vinny’s wedding is in October and I’ll have to go to that, but other than that, I could stay away.
My grandmother’s eighty-first birthday is in March. The whole family usually takes her out to a restaurant to celebrate, and I haven’t decided whether or not Michele and I will go. Grandma’s been calling me, asking me to come for dinner, but so far I’ve managed to avoid it.
Denise and my mother are spending a lot of time together. Denise has gone up to stay with her a couple of weekends, and she told me they went to some spa for the day in Hershey Park.
Michele and I plan to go see Mom, but I swung out of weekends and it’ll be about six weeks before I swing into weekends off again.
Louie Musto, the Anti-Crime Sergeant, approached Joe and me about coming into crime next fall. He said a couple of guys would be going up to RIP (robbery in progress), which is with PDU (precinct detective unit). He said he was looking at Joe and me for their spots. He told us to think about it and let him know. It would involve tour changes; Crime works 10-6 days and 6-2 nights. What’s good is we could go in together and get our shields at the same time.
I went to see Sol the jeweler again in the beginning of February, this time to pick out a ring. I didn’t realize how hard it would be to pick something out. I drove his wife crazy looking at every diamond in the store until I finally settled on a nice round one that’s almost two karats. I went back to pick out the settings, and I have it narrowed down to four, two in gold and two in platinum.
I was gonna give it to Michele for Valentine’s Day, but that’s too predictable. I don’t plan on doing anything crazy to pop the question, probably just the old down on one knee thing. I did go to her father. I called him and asked him to meet me for coffee. We met at a diner out on Montauk highway, and I told him that I bought a diamond and I wanted to let him know ahead of time. He shook my hand, thanked me for the old-fashioned courtesy, and said he couldn’t be happier about the whole thing.
I’ve been talking to Fiore about marriage. Besides his parents, he and Donna are the only married people I know who are happy. I asked him what he thought about me marrying Michele. I was concerned I wouldn’t be any good at it, and he seems to think I would. I thought about all the things people have told me about life and women over the years. My parents, other cops, friends that I’ve had, all had their perspectives. Most of them were self-serving, and none of them included God. But Fiore’s different. He’s solid and steady, and he lets God lead him. I don’t really understand it yet, but I’m getting there.
Acknowledgments
The authors would like to thank the following people:
Mike Valentino of Cambridge Literary for his continual support. Enjoy your bragging rights, Mike. We’ll see you in the Bronx in October.
Lonnie Hull DuPont. Opa baby, we love you.
Sheila Ingram, Twila Bennett, Karen Steele, Kelley Meyne, Aaron Carriere, and everyone else at Baker Publishing Group, thank you so much for this opportunity.
Al O’Leary our publicist and friend, thanks for all your hard work and patience.
Joe Amendola, Vinny Benevenuto, and Scott Hennessy, who really are New York’s finest.
Sal Ventimiglia, our favorite hosehead. Despite the good natured rivalry, we love FDNY, but they’re still New York’s noisiest.
Sandy Pedersen for her friendship, then and now, and her brutal honesty about alcoholism and the lost decade.
Denise Hopely, good friend and
research partner who always brings the bagels.
Pastors Jim and Janet Petrow from House on the Rock Family Church (the one in Wind Gap, Pennsylvania, not Long Island) and Pastors Steve and Roseann Brower (the ones from Christ the Redeemer Church in Long Island) for their guidance and friendship.
Louis Musto, who loved the Brooklyn Dodgers and wasn’t Ward Cleaver, but deep down he wanted to be. We’ll see you in heaven.
Louis Musto, who loves the Yankees and knows almost as much as Dad about baseball. Thanks for the stats.
Kathy Lione for her medical expertise and support and for believing in us.
Frank Lione for sharing so freely his experiences in Vietnam and the NYPD. I love you, Dad.
Shirley Kerrigan for Scripture references.
Janet, Albert, Rick, Olivia, Lisa Panzer (the Rev Doc), Connie, Dave, Marlena, Mary, Dean, Mike V., Larry, Jim, Karen, Bob, Chris, Sue, Donna, Lee, the two Linda L.s, and all our Paesanos from House on the Rock. We love you guys.
Georgie and Frankie for sharing our dream and supporting it. We love being your parents.
Our family for their love and support and for giving us so much material to work with (just kidding). We love you.
F. P. Lione is actually two people—a married couple by the name of Frank and Pam Lione. They are both Italian-American and the offspring of NYPD detectives. Frank Lione is a veteran of the NYPD, and Pam was a medical sonographer in vascular ultrasound until she decided to stay home full time with their two sons. Frank and Pam divide their time between New York City and Pennsylvania. They are the authors of the Midtown Blue series and Clear Blue Sky. To contact the authors, log on to their website at www.midtownblue.com.