Parker was incredulous. “I don’t believe you. You never stop.” She threw up her hands. “I bow to your superior knowledge, but God help you if I get into trouble for listening to you.”
“We’ll call for backup later, if we need it,” Corelli said, continuing to evaluate the situation.
“Later will be too late.”
“Stop whining and tell me, how good a shot are you?”
“I’m not…Bull’s-eye every time.”
“Fantastic. Move around to a position where you have a clear view of the guy, but don’t shoot until I give the signal. And if he shoots the boy, call for backup immediately, but don’t try to protect me. That’s an order.” Thank god the neighborhood had integrated enough over the years so Parker wouldn’t stand out.
“But—”
“Just do it, damn it.” Corelli pushed through the crowd and into the empty circle.
The man yelled, “Back off, lady. I’ll shoot the kid.”
“Get the fuck out of here,” someone shouted in Italian. “What do you think you’re doing? That’s my grandson’s life you’re playing with.” Corelli glanced over her shoulder. Their eyes locked. Him. He glared at her from the edge of the crowd in his white suit, white shirt, white shoes, and his beautifully coiffed white hair. She hesitated. His grandson. She turned back to the man with the gun pointed at the boy’s head. The boy was sobbing, his hair wet with sweat and his eyes wide with terror. He was eight or nine, Gabriella’s age, old enough to understand. He had wet himself. She sympathized. Her knees felt weak, but she filled her lungs, taking deep steady breaths to calm herself and focus. The boy was innocent. He didn’t deserve to die, even if his grandfather… She put her hands up and spoke to the man holding the boy.
“I’m a police officer. Let me help you.”
The man expelled a sound that might have been an attempt at a laugh but was more of a sob. “You’re too late to help me. I’m a dead man. Go away.”
As if saying it aloud made the situation real for him, he shuddered. His gaze bounced back and forth between her and the crowd, now silent, trying to hear their conversation.
“What’s happening? Maybe I can help.”
“Put your gun down and show me your badge.” His voice was low and shaky. His body vibrated with tension, and sweat and tears mingled and spattered around him. Even with six feet between them, the astringent smell of sweat laced with a strong dose of fear filled her nostrils.
“I’m going to remove my jacket.” She lowered her hands to the lapels of her jacket, slipped it off, and held it in front of her, maintaining eye contact the entire time. “I’m going to reach into the pocket for my shield. Okay?”
He nodded. Pain shot through her arm as she held the jacket with her swollen right hand and slowly withdrew her shield and ID with her left. She dropped the jacket. “Now, I’m going to place my gun on the ground.”
She forced herself not to wince as she used her fingertips to remove the gun from the holster and squatted to put it on the ground. Little did he know that the fingers of her right hand were too swollen for her to pull the trigger. She rose with both hands in the air, shield and ID in her left. “Are you okay?”
He nodded, his gaze shifting between her, the boy, the crowd, and the grandfather.
“Good. Now I’m coming closer so we can talk.” She inched toward him.
Suddenly, he shrieked. “Philly, don’t come any closer. I’ll shoot. Stay back.”
She turned. A man in a jogging suit was edging to the front of the crowd. She yelled at the grandfather. “Keep your goons under control. Get him the hell out of here.” She turned again to face the man with the gun and inched toward him.
“Don’t come any closer.”
She was two feet away. She stopped and extended her left hand toward him, displaying her shield. He glanced at the shield and then resumed scanning the crowd.
“I’m Detective Corelli. What’s your name?”
“Fra.” His voice caught and he repeated, “F-F-Frank, Frank Petralia.”
She edged closer, both hands still in the air. “What’s goin’ on, Frank?”
“That fat bastard killed my son and now I’m going to kill his grandson.”
“How can you be so sure he did it, Frank?”
“It was one of his stooges. I know it.”
“Is that going to bring your son back, Frank? Do you have other kids? A wife?”
“Yeah. Two other sons and a daughter. My wife tried to stop me.” He brushed the sweat out of his eyes. “I want that bastard to feel what I feel.”
“What about the other kids, Frank? Do you want them to grow up without a father or worse yet, all dead?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m a dead man whatever I do. He’ll never let me live after this.”
“What if I can make a deal for you, guarantee safety for you and your family?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would your son want you to kill a little boy?”
“No.” The tears ran faster.
“Let me make a deal for you. And for your family.”
Choking back sobs, he nodded. She lowered her hands and walked over to the grandfather of the hostage. Parker was standing to her left in front of the crowd, hand in her jacket, ready.
She leaned in close and said, “If he lets your grandson go, will you put the word out to leave Petralia and his family alone?”
“What the fuck you doing here, Corelli? You screw this up—”
She stared at him. “You know me?”
The crowd buzzed, “Corelli, Corelli.”
“You’ve been in the news. But I never forget a face. Especially little girls who threaten to kill me.”
A lifetime ago. “If you’re willing to deal, then I can save your grandson.”
He replied without hesitation. “Yes. But screw it up, and you’re dead.” His gaze was intense.
She forced herself to maintain the eye contact and braced herself to conceal the shiver of fear passing through her. “I’ll die trying, even if he is your grandson.” She brushed the sweat from her eyes. “Do you understand that Petralia and his family are not to be touched, ever?”
“You have my word. And anybody knows me, knows that’s gold.”
“And since you know me, you know that unless Frank Petralia dies in his own bed of natural causes, I’ll come after you and your family.”
He nodded. “Get the boy.”
He wouldn’t be carrying, but his henchmen were scattered in the crowd waiting for instructions. “Tell your men to back off. Then put your hands in the air and follow me.”
He whispered something to a bald man with a bulbous boxer’s nose, wearing dark pants and a white T-shirt. Then he faced her with his hands up. She watched the word being passed, and some of the men in the front moved back. She put her hands up and led the way, keeping herself between the two men.
As they approached, Petralia screamed, “Don’t bring him too close.”
Corelli left the grandfather and moved closer. Her silk shirt clung to her and the sweat rolled down her face. Her hands were clammy. She spoke in what she hoped was a soothing voice to Petralia, explaining what was going to happen. His gaze ping-ponged between the boy, his grandfather and the crowd, but she focused on Petralia, edging closer until she was positioned to fling herself between him and the boy.
She turned to the grandfather. “We want everyone to hear what you say, so speak up.”
He hesitated, but spoke in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Give me my grandson unharmed, and you and your family will be under my protection. Anybody hurts you or your family is accountable to me.” The pledge flowed from person to person in the crowd.
She turned to Frank. “Do you understand that his word is good?”
He nodded but raised the hand holding the gun. The crowd gasped and moved back. Corelli’s heart stopped, thinking he was going to shoot, but he casually used the back of the hand holding the gun to wipe his dripping n
ose.
“Okay, Frank, give me your gun.”
He scanned the crowd before placing the gun in her outstretched left hand.
“Now, let go of the boy. Put his hand in mine.” She stretched her right hand toward him. The boy clutched her hand sending shockwaves through her body as she passed him to his grandfather behind her.
The crowd applauded. Petralia sobbed as the grandfather grabbed the boy and murmured to him in Italian. Parker took Petralia’s gun from Corelli, put the clip into her pocket and tucked the gun into her waistband. She picked up Corelli’s gun and jacket, slid the gun into Corelli’s holster, and helped her into her jacket.
“Thanks,” Corelli said. “Call it in. The local precinct will make the arrest.”
Corelli turned to the grandfather. “We’ll turn him over to the local cops. They’ll want to talk to you.”
“Philly will go to the station with him and my lawyer will meet them there to take care of it.”
Holding his grandson close, he turned to Petralia.
“Frank, I really am sorry about Joey. Believe me, it wasn’t me. Your family is under my protection now, so don’t worry. The detectives have to arrest you, but my lawyer will meet you at the police station. He’ll make sure you’re home with your wife and kids tonight or tomorrow at the latest. You should thank your lucky stars that Detective Corelli came along. I thank her for saving my grandson.” He moved closer, so he was face-to-face with her. “And I don’t forget, ever.”
He turned away. The crowd parted, opening a path for grandfather and grandson. His men pushed through and guided them to a black Lincoln Town Car that appeared suddenly. As the sedan pulled away, all eyes swung back to Corelli and Petralia, who were standing in the street, watching like everyone else.
Corelli took Petralia’s arm. “How’re ya doin’, Frank?”
He started to collapse. Parker grabbed his other arm and they struggled to hold him up. A man came out of the crowd and helped them keep Petralia on his feet until the patrol car arrived. After they helped Petralia into the backseat, Corelli thanked the man. He brushed her forehead and murmured something. Corelli said something in Italian, smiled at the man’s response and turned to deal with the officers waiting to arrest Petralia.
She’d expected hostility but, after talking to Toricelli’s man Philly, the officers were all business. As the police car drove away, she turned to Parker. “Let’s go. I feel like a wet dishrag.”
Once they were on the Belt Parkway, Parker turned to Corelli. “Who was the grandfather? He seemed important. What was that about guaranteeing protection?”
“That was Luigi Toricelli.”
“Toricelli?” Parker’s voice rose an octave. “The Luigi Toricelli, the Mafia Don? Holy shit.”
Yeah, holy shit. Corelli felt as if someone had sucked all her blood. She knew Toricelli wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot her if anything had happened to the boy. She had succeeded, but once she let go of the tension, she felt weak, her legs rubbery. All she could think about now was a stiff drink and a bath. But she felt Parker’s tension. The repeated sighs to cover gulping air gave her away. As did the continuous movement of her eyes from Corelli to the highway and back. Corelli pretended not to notice, but then she realized Parker needed to talk.
She shifted in the seat. “You all right?”
Parker turned toward her and then quickly back to the highway and the cars speeding past. “Yes. You?”
“Just tired. Drained actually. This has been a rather stressful day, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’d say. We have to make a report. Right?”
“We’ll fill in Winfry tomorrow morning, but the arresting officers will take care of filing the report. Be prepared. The World will probably have the story tomorrow.”
“How do you know?”
“The editor of the World, Sal Cantrino, is from the neighborhood and I saw one of his cousins in the crowd taking pictures.”
“Did you know that was Toricelli?”
“When I saw who Petralia was talking at, I thought it was him. He was always around the neighborhood when I was a kid, and we all knew he was somebody to avoid.”
“How come he knew you?”
“I got in his face and threatened to kill him when I was about fifteen, so he remembered me.”
“You what?” Parker’s voice rose again. “Sweet Jesus. Why?”
She debated how much to reveal, but she figured she owed Parker the truth after putting her in danger. “I thought he murdered my brother.”
Parker’s head swiveled toward her, shock on her face. “Did he?”
“He denied it. But I’ve never been able to figure it out.”
“Yet you put your life at risk to save his grandson. You are crazy.”
“Maybe you’re right, Parker. Maybe I am crazy, but that boy is an innocent and didn’t deserve to die for his grandfather’s perceived sins.” She grinned. “Besides, didn’t I tell you I always try to do the right thing?”
Parker shook her head but she was smiling. “Definitely, crazy. Do you think Toricelli’s going to mean trouble?”
“Quite the contrary. Unless they’ve changed the code, he owes me.”
“Were you scared?”
Corelli considered the answer. “You’ve been there so you know how it is in these situations. At first I was focused on saving the boy, doing what needed to be done, and I didn’t think about the danger. But once I saw Toricelli, I knew if the boy was killed, I would be dead too, and I had to remind myself to breathe. On the other hand, because it was Toricelli, I knew if I could get him to promise protection, Petralia would probably give the kid up. Without protection, Petralia knew he was a dead man.” She thought for a minute. “I felt more scared after it was over.”
They were silent and Corelli asked, “How do you feel, Parker?”
“Shaky. I was scared. I didn’t understand why you told me not to shoot if he killed the kid. Now I see you were protecting me. You figured if the kid was killed, Toricelli would blame you and his men would shoot us both if I tried to protect you. Right?”
“Right. I put us both in danger and I’m sorry, but if we’d called for backup, there probably would have been a shootout and the boy, Petralia, some of Toricelli’s men, some police, and others in the crowd would’ve ended up dead. Not to mention that one of the brethren in blue might have accidentally shot me.”
She watched Parker process that information.
“I see it now, but I didn’t get it before.”
Corelli put a hand on Parker’s shoulder. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
Progress. Parker didn’t flinch when she touched her. Instead she laughed.
“A couple of stiff drinks and I’ll be fine. But for future reference, I’d rather take a bullet trying to protect you than stand by helplessly and watch it happen.”
“Very altruistic.”
Parker reacted as if Corelli had punched her. She regretted the smart-ass retort, but it had popped out before she’d processed what Parker was saying. “Scratch my nasty remark, Parker. I get what you’re saying and I’m sorry for putting you in that position.”
Parker relaxed. “Thanks. By the way, what did that guy say? You know, the one who helped us with Petralia?”
Corelli laughed. “That was the parish priest. He thanked me for stopping the spilling of innocent blood. He said I was brave, a hero. Then he blessed me.” Her lips twitched. “I pissed him off at my nephew’s baptism on Sunday so I asked, ‘Does this mean you’re not going to excommunicate me after all? He said, ‘maybe next time.’”
Parker pulled to the curb in front of Corelli’s building. The streetlight was out and the area was dark except for the lights on her building. Corelli got out and started toward the door, but spun around suddenly.
“Thanks for your support, and thanks especially for being willing to follow an order you didn’t understand. But call me on it if I do it again. Goodnight.”
She felt Parker watching he
r as she moved toward her building. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a sudden movement and whirled to see a man running toward her. Before she could react, Parker was on the street, her gun drawn. “Police! Don’t move.”
The man skidded to a stop, raised his hands and pivoted toward Parker. The three of them stood frozen for a few seconds before Corelli laughed. “Parker, I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my nephew.” Corelli pulled the boy into a hug. “I forgot I asked him to meet me here tonight. Come over. Let me introduce you.” I’m beginning to think you’re on my side, Detective Parker, even though I’m being an asshole.
Parker holstered her gun and walked over. “Sorry, I’m a little jumpy tonight.”
Corelli laughed again. “Don’t worry, Parker. You were perfectly justified. I’m not as controlled as you. I probably would have shot him. Detective Parker, my nephew Nicky.”
Nicky extended his hand. “That was way cool, Detective Parker. I’m thankful you have a steady finger on the trigger.”
Parker shook his hand. “Yeah, me too.”
Parker was still watching them when the elevator door closed.
Corelli was exhausted and wished she hadn’t asked Nicky to come tonight but, of course, she hadn’t planned on rescuing Toricelli’s grandson. A quick shower and a drink would help.
“Thanks for coming, Nicky. Your mother give you a hard time?”
“Nope.” He smiled. “She was doing something at the church so I left a note telling her I was sleeping here tonight. I’m sure I’ll hear about it tomorrow.”
“Put your stuff in one of the guest rooms. I need a couple of minutes to get comfortable. I can’t believe I’m hungry, but I am. And no doubt you are too. While I shower, grab the salad and pasta from the fridge and open a bottle of wine.”
Twenty minutes later she emerged in her pajamas, refreshed from the hot shower. She dressed the salad and warmed the pasta. Nicky poured them both wine and they sat down to eat.
“Do you remember the tiny recorder you set up to download to my computer?”
“Sure. Awesome barrette thingy for your hair. How’d it go?”
“Great. Can you figure out how to print what was downloaded?”
A Matter of Blood Page 16