by William Cain
Reminded of their agreement to not engage in touching, or anything, until later tonight, he holds his hands up guiltily, “Oops, you’re right.” Then, seeing the look on her face, he adds, “Let’s go.” Peering outside, he tells her, “ride’s here.” They leave, Frank first and then Addie, and she locks her door.
◆◆◆
The next morning, Addie wakes up first, looks at her hand, and sees the ring on her finger that Frank had brought with him. Last night, he told her he wants to meet her parents, Irene and Jericho, and they talk about a trip to New Orleans, where her dad and mother live. He’s a retired detective turned guest lecturer at various universities on criminology, and she’s a social worker at Tulane Medical Center. He’s from Trinidad, and she’s from Wisconsin.
After the date last night, they began to prepare for bed and Frank became amorous again. Addie put a kibosh to it, ‘Stop big boy, you wore me out.’ As they began to sleep she became aroused for absolutely no reason. Reaching over she heard him lightly snoring. And she stopped. She wore him out, too.
This morning, they’re going to have breakfast together, maybe tennis later. It’s modest, just fruit and coffee.
She tells him she might be promoted to captain if she can close this case. Frank lets her know he’s been thinking about opening an office in Asheville and keep both offices. They talk about that night in the hospital. His pulse rate made the monitor sing. They laugh together intimately, sharing the looks that only two naughty people can share.
Addie likes blueberries and pineapple, and she picks up a few honey crisp apples for Frank. Frank looks at the apple, “That is huge!”
“That’s how big they grow around here. But it’s not growing season here yet, those are storage apples.” After seeing Frank’s reaction, she adds, “Almost all apples sold in supermarkets are storage apples, unless you live near orchards. They’re perfectly fine.”
Frank flips the apple onto his bicep and bounces it back into his hand and sits down to carve it up.
“Nice trick,” Addie tells him. “Can I ask you something serious?”
He looks at her curiously, “Sure you can. You can ask me anything.”
“It’s about your mother.” Frank is expectant. “Tell me about her past a little.”
“Well, she met my stepfather Joseph over forty years ago. She got away from her first husband, John Paulson, because he was abusive and an alcoholic. He’s dead. Both guys are deceased. Anyway, in her early years with my natural father, there was always trouble in the house. They fought a lot. When she met Joe, it was a blessing for her and for us.”
“Anything you remember from those early years that sticks out?”
“Oh, plenty. But the worst time for us was when we, the kids, had to go stay with our uncle. Mom was in the hospital for around six months. We felt like she wouldn’t come to get us. Charlotte cried a lot. Megan was just really angry most of the time. But she did come get us and we moved far away after that. I never saw my natural father again. I never saw his side of the family again. Later, I figured out we had gone into hiding to get away from him.”
Addie lets this snippet find a home in her memory bank. Then she gets to her real intention for speaking about Frank’s mom. “You told me she’s engaged now to Ken Jones.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who he is?”
“Yes. Edwin, my brother-in-law, told me.”
“Do you know when his wife died and how she died?”
“Yes, last July … she was murdered in their home in Heritage Hills.”
“Then you know how this looks.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
Frank pauses, finding the right words. He’s always been like this, cautionary. “Mom met Ken Jones, a retired mobster from Chicago, two months after his wife was murdered, and they started dating.”
“Then I have one word for you, Frank.”
Looking at her, he quietly says, “I know the word.”
“What is it?”
He leans back, his eyes still on Addie, and says, “Collusion.”
Addie nods her head, and Frank states clearly, “My mother is seventy-nine, Adelaide. I’m pretty sure she’s not the murdering type.”
Addie replies, “Well, something is going on, and I’m going to find out what that something is.”
He pauses. Nothing more to add, Frank looks at Addie, then looks at his empty plate, then back to Addie, who he finds staring at him, and he says,
“That was a good apple.”
Chapter 16 Spadaro
April 22nd
It's only a crime if you get caught. Russian Proverb
The black, angry tempest blows in from the north over Lake Michigan, picking up moisture as the arctic blast meets the waters and reaches nighttime, weather-weary Chicago. There, the warmer shores cause it to stall, and, as it drains its low, heavy clouds, lightning joins thunder over and over, coming ever more quickly as the windswept downpour drenches the city. Evil is on its way.
In the mansion on the hill sits its owner Anthony Spadaro and former Consigliore Mitch Conti as the fireplace blazes and shadows dance in the great room. Lightning spotlights the old-world style of the room, with library cases, books, and statues lining the walls. Grand style, ornate sofas and wing chairs rest on Persian rugs. It is in these chairs, before the fire, the two men sit discussing, arguing their next move.
“My advice, Anthony, is to reach out to Helen and tell her the job needs to be done in the next week,” Mitch counsels. “And you have to tell her yourself, because she won’t take it seriously unless it comes from the man who pays her bill.”
“And my advice is to replace her. She’s become stale maybe, too old and rusty for the job,” he replies.
“If we get another resource for the job, then we get another headache. We’d have to take Helen out first, then Biggie. It compounds the whole picture. And what if the resource fails with Helen?” Suddenly a very close lightning crack deadens the great room, and the two men hunch and look towards the windows. “If the resource doesn’t do the job, then she’ll come right after us. She’s good. You saw the pictures of Elsie, right? That was Helen. Imagine what she’d do to us.”
“Mitch, it’s a risk I’m willing to take. We have a lot of firepower to throw her way. You think I’m just going to sit around while she comes for us? Anyways, I decided, and we’ll have a visitor in a while. We’ll meet, agree, and then he’ll do both jobs, Helen first.”
Mitch stares at the fire, its warmth not reassuring him. “Anthony, how’d you get someone to do the job on Helen? They all stick together. Is your resource coming here to kill us?” He looks over at Spadaro.
Spadaro considers this reality, but answers, “He’s not from around here. He’s not from America. He’s from Russia, and he’s ex-KGB undercover. He doesn’t follow the domestic rules of the hitman society,” he tells Mitch sarcastically. “He was referred to me by a friend of friend of a friend.” He lets this guttural, phlegmy laugh escape, the fire’s flames accentuating his huge greasy face.
The housemaid is listening intently, and the house is still except for the activity on the second and third floors, where Spadaro’s men and their goomahs are busy. The storm lingering overhead has everyone inside, taking shelter. If a passerby were to question her, she’s simply performing her duties, waiting on her master for further orders. It hasn’t happened in seven years, so very little risk is in play.
A black limousine pulls onto the property and stops in front of the huge home as showers from the storm pelt the windows and roof, lightning and thunder screaming out loudly, winds howling, wildly swaying trees and loose branches breaking and disappearing into the melee. Ulrich Pavlov peers out, disgusted, “Looks like Siberia, blech!” He leans back into his seat. It’s warm, and outside is not. After a few minutes, he decides the skies aren’t clearing and he presses the intercom. When it’s answered, he tells the driver to open the doors and they will go. When the driver r
eaches his door, he’s visibly struggling to control the umbrella. Ulrich dons his heavy coat over his head, holds the door open, steps out, and they make their way up the steps to the massive front doors where they open briefly to allow him and his driver to enter. The butler takes his wet coat, and Ulrich motions to the driver to bring his things in, “But maybe you should wait until the winds die down. I’m not in a rush.”
Standing there, he hears laughter and music from upstairs, and an occasional shriek. Ulrich is shown down a passage to the great room where Spadaro is waiting with Mitch. As he enters, both men stand, and the three of them look each over briefly. Ulrich Pavlov is an ordinary looking sort, wearing a fitted business suit that reveals his muscular, fit stature. He wears round, antique horn-rimmed spectacles that convey his intelligent nature. His blackish gray hair is slicked back, his face gaunt, but well fed. He has a commanding presence as he steps forward to meet the two men, not sure of which is his employer, Anthony Spadaro.
Spadaro steps forward, his hand outstretched, and now Ulrich knows which is which. The two men shake hands as Spadaro greets him, “Thank you for coming, Ulrich Pavlov. Can I call you Ulrich?” he asks, referring to the more casual address.
“Of course, Anthony.”
“Fine. This man,” Spadaro says, pointing to Mitch, “is Mitch Conti. He worked with me for years as my legal counsel.”
Ulrich addresses him, shaking hands. He can sense this Mitch Conti is frightened. He grins at him malevolently, releases his hand, and turns back to Anthony, “Beautiful day out, yes?”
The three men laugh a little, and the small talk follows, and, when it’s reached its end, Ulrich asks, as is his right as the guest, “Tell me the specifics of this adventure we are all on.”
“I think your English is very good, but stop me if you need to,” Spadaro says. As he continues to tell him about the first job, on Helen, Ulrich develops a dislike for this large Italian, for no reason other than the man is pretentious, poorly educated, and slovenly. He definitely doesn’t like either man, but he doesn’t have to.
Ulrich understands the details of the first assassination. “Helen Richter? I know of her; her reputation is global. She is not an easily beaten woman. She is always on guard and armed. Is there any reason to believe this will not be so?”
Spadaro anticipated this and he tells Ulrich in his gravelly voice, “She is under our employ and she uses one of our apartments in Asheville, North Carolina, sleeping in the solitary bedroom there. You will be given a key if you choose to do the job there. If you choose not to, that is up to you. We can’t have her escape your attempt, though. If she were to find we are trying to eliminate her, it will be very dangerous for me, for Mitch, for you.”
Ulrich thinks this over, “Her price will be ten million U.S.” The two men glance at each other, and Ulrich adds, “Added risk, added reward. She won’t escape me.”
Anthony knows he’s out of options. “Agreed. This is a recent picture of Helen,” he says, handing him some photographs, “and we know she’ll be in Asheville next week for two days, Monday and Tuesday.”
And then Spadaro adds, “I want her left forefinger as proof of the killing, and as soon as it’s done, we have another job, also in Asheville. You can stay put and do that one right after Helen.”
As Ulrich waits for the details on the second job, he considers making a quick exit. He’s not excited about taking out another hitman, especially Helen Richter.
Spadaro tells him about the second assassination. “The target is Biggie Battaglia.” Ulrich lifts an eyebrow. “We want the job to be brutal and painful.”
Ulrich considers this for a moment, “His price will be fifty million. He is a very dangerous person with an army of loyal men.” The two men look at him in disbelief, and he then describes the tortured death he’ll inflict. “I use a spearpoint in these cases. It is a strong, thick knife, and very sharp. Deboning is easy, and torture is a simple byproduct. I’ll record it for you,” he ends, smiling.
Spadaro reluctantly agrees, and the housemaid is summoned to bring brandy, vodka, and port.
They drink to the success of the mission, make more small talk, and the housemaid appears again to lead Ulrich to his room in a more secluded, quiet part of the house.
He enters his bedroom, lightning rattling the windows, bright flashes of light; the storm is low.
He pours another drink, removes his clothes except his underwear, and reveals a heavily scarred body, with deep indentations where tissue has died.
A knock at the door is unexpected. He grabs a weapon and tells the intruder to open the door. It’s a beautiful, little underage girl. She stares at his bare, tortured body and steps into the room.
He looks at her, thinks his options over, and tells her, “Please go.”
After she closes the door, he mutters under his breath,
“My own daughter is that age. What is wrong with these people?”
Chapter 17 Addie and Juvieux
April 24th
Whatever you are, be a good one. Abraham Lincoln
Frank finishes dressing, picks up his travel bag, and leaves the bedroom. It’s lightly packed. He tucks it under his arm and enters the kitchen, finding Addie on the patio of her garden apartment. He comes close to her, kisses her, and looks into Addie’s eyes, “See you in two days?”
“Yes, don’t be long, ok? I’m off again beginning Thursday for a few days and we can spend some time looking at homes in the area if you want, and whatever else you want to do,” she tells him suggestively.
He smiles agreeably and wonders if the novelty of his relationship with Adelaide will ever wear off. They’ve decided to halve their life, New York City and Asheville. Their careers are important to them; they’ve discussed it, agreed on it, and they want to make it work. What they haven’t decided on is children. As an older couple, they find that topic touchier than others. Addie’s not sure Frank wants another, even though he’s told her he’s not against it. And she’s not sure she can even conceive. She’ll turn forty-seven soon, and the threshold for her possible motherhood may have been crossed. But at least they’ve talked about it.
After he leaves to go see his mother—she’s leasing another car, and Frank has offered to help her—Addie showers and dresses in full uniform. The windows are open, and a cool morning, mountain breeze glides into the bedroom, with birds busily crowding each other on the tree outside, chirping and flying away in groups as cars hustle by on the road below. Asheville is waking up, and it’s time to start a new day.
Reaching her car, she finds it to be warmed by the morning sun, and, seating herself behind the wheel, checks her makeup. She’s meeting with the commissioner again today. He wants to be brought up to date on the case of Elsie Battaglia. She has new information for him, but it can’t be closed yet, as there are unsettling, open endings to explain. One of them is why Gen was so open about having loved his wife. The other is if Anthony Spadaro is responsible, then who is his instrument of death? Helen can’t find it. And how does Reggi Thomas fit into this? She thinks to herself, What the hell is going on?
Her only real comfort is that the case is tightening, and she has a limited number of suspects, and someone will hang for it. She can make a case for either Spadaro or Gen, and it will mean life for each one, but she wants to be right. She hopes it’s not Gen, but if facts lean in his direction, and it really looks that way, then she’ll have to arrest him after presenting the case to the D.A. Why is life so difficult? And why do people do things like this? Is it always easier to just steal and kill? Cheat and lie? It makes her troubled to think of arresting Battaglia. She knows he’s probably responsible for so many crimes and deserves it, but the comfort of knowing this, well, it’s not there. In the end, she wants to be right.
Her thoughts turn to Reggi and Frank. She hopes his mother isn’t involved. Even if she just knew about it, she would be charged also. Would Frank leave her? He might, and that would be devastating. She’s already given herself
to him. It would crush her, and her life would be ruined. She can’t live, won’t live, without a future with him. After the car crash, she realized how much she wants him and needs him to be safe. She told him he needs to be careful for her sake, and he thought that was cute, which infuriated her, but only for a while. If Reggi is involved, Addie resolves to make Frank understand. She is determined, and that’s the Addie she knows.
◆◆◆
Later, at the stationhouse, the meeting is over with the commissioner. Captain Leary asks her to follow him to his office so they can talk.
“You’re nearing the end of your case, Addie. Let me tell you now that it’s good detective work you’ve been doing, you’ve uncovered a lot,” and he looks sideways at her as they both take their seats at his round conference table. “For some reason, people open up to you. Spadaro’s housemaid. And then there’s Helen Richter. I mean that is big. Even the guys here say hello to her when she comes in. You have a hitman helping you on this case. That is incredible,” he ends, laughing incredulously.
“Former hitman,” Addie tells him.
“Right, I stand corrected. And don’t mind the commissioner, he’s eager to have the case solved so her family in Chicago reduces the heat.”
He looks at her inquisitively, “I don’t see a ring.”
She knows he’s referring to her engagement ring, “I don’t wear it at work. But yes, I’m engaged.”
“Can I ask who the man is? No one seems to know.”
“His name is Frank. He’s a businessman from New York,” she tells him evasively, but decides to come out with the pertinent details. “I met him while working this case. His mother is Reggi Thomas,” she tells him, dropping this headline in his lap, waiting for his reaction.
Captain Leary almost falls out of his chair. “The Reggi Thomas of Ken Jones and Reggi Thomas?” he asks, his hand to his forehead. He’s thinking quickly, calculating.