Brooklyn Blue: A Madison Knox Mystery (Book 1)

by M. Z. Kelly

  We drove off in frustration, knowing the likelihood that Drake would work with the other precincts and actively search for Maria Ramirez and the other girls was minimal.

  “You went back on your word,” Rod whined from the back seat.

  Max glared at him in the rearview mirror. “Life ain’t fair. Deal with it.” She then looked at me, lowering her voice. “I gotta feeling we just missed the bastard who took Maria.”

  “What happens now?”

  “We gotta find this Baylor clown ourselves and save those girls.”

  TWENTY

  I was running late after booking our suspect and drove directly to Amy’s house because we’d made dinner plans. Max decided to tag along after telling me she had no plans for the evening. After picking up Amy, we drove to Fenwick’s Cafeteria, because it was close by and cheap. Over dinner, Max and I updated Amy on our case.

  “Peter Baylor would have moved the girls for only two reasons,” Max said, after we laid out what we knew. “Either he felt like someone was getting close to finding him, or the girls have been passed off.”

  “You mean sold into sex slavery?” Amy said.

  I nodded. “There are circuits operating up and down the east coast. If they’ve been sold, we’ll likely never find them.”

  Amy pushed her food around her plate. “I just lost my fucking appetite.” Her eyes brightened a bit as she looked up. “Hey, what about trying to work this from the inside?”

  “What you got in mind?” Max asked, before slurping her coffee.

  “I got me a lot of sources I go to when I need information about someone. Some of them are scraping the bottom of the low life barrel. I could see what I can dredge up on this Baylor idiot.”

  Max agreed, and I said, “We’ve got nothing to lose.”

  After discussing our case for a few minutes, and Saturday’s upcoming move, we left the restaurant. Amy then said, “What do you say we try and locate Billy Cornelius’s cousin?”

  “Asia?” I said.

  She nodded, and Max said, “It’s still early. I’ll tag along, if you want.”

  As we got to Alexander Street in Queens, Asia Trainor’s last known address, Amy told us what she’d learned about Billy Cornelius’s cousin. “According to my sources, Asia’s been working as a numbers runner for the past couple years. She’s supposedly very attractive, and uses that to her advantage, working for a guy named Bobby Angelo. Angelo’s got some mob ties, but basically makes his money in working class bars, where his bookies take bets. Asia’s the go-between, picking up the money and running it to Angelo. The idiot makes just enough in payouts to keep the game going, but skims most of the proceeds.”

  “Are Asia and Angelo in a relationship?” Max asked.

  “Not sure, but the scumbag’s married, with a couple kids. He’s been making a killing on the scheme and is living in a Manhattan penthouse.”

  “I’ve never heard of the guy,” I said. “Are the authorities onto him?”

  Amy shrugged. “Don’t know, but if you’re a cop and you’ve never heard of him, I’d say he’s flying low on the radar.”

  We found Asia’s flat in the middle of some rundown row houses. Amy knocked on the door and rang the bell several times, but didn’t get any response.

  Amy turned to Max and me, saying, “You two might wanna go walk the dog.”

  “What dog?” I said.

  “That invisible one you came with.” She lowered her voice. “I need to try the door again.”

  Max looked at me, raised her brows. We both took the hint, walking back over to the sidewalk. Five minutes later, Amy called us over. She smiled and pushed the door open. “What do you know? It wasn’t locked after all, just like a lot of houses in Jersey.”

  Max and I instinctively put our hands on our weapons as Amy called out after pushing the door open, but not getting a response. The apartment was small, with lots of dishes in the kitchen sink and on the counter. I got the impression no one had been home for several days. While Max and I were checking a hallway closet, Amy went off to check the bedroom.

  A moment later, we heard her calling out to us. “One down in here.”

  When Max and I got to the cramped bedroom, we found Asia Trainor. She was lying in bed, with a gunshot wound to her head.

  Amy exhaled and looked at us. “I just got a real bad feeling ‘bout this case, and it doesn’t bode well for Billy Cornelius. Or our twenty grand.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  After lots of back and forth about how to report the murder of Asia Trainor, Max and I agreed to let Amy use one of her untraceable burner phones she kept for what she termed ‘discrete situations’ to anonymously call the local cops. If the department learned that we were assisting a PI in investigating a missing persons case, we knew that we’d be facing certain discipline. The fact that a murder was discovered during that investigation would only further complicate things, probably ending our term in Precinct Blue, and maybe with the department.

  We had no way of knowing if Asia’s death was linked to Billy Cornelius’s disappearance, or if Bobby Angelo had a hand in what happened to both parties, but we knew we’d have to find a way to discretely take a closer look at the mobster.

  I was exhausted and felt like we weren’t making any real progress on either finding Billy or the kidnapped girls as I dragged myself into work the next morning.

  “If I’m gonna stay awake, I’ll need to drink the whole pot of coffee,” Max said, also feeling the effects of the long night, when I met up with her in the breakroom.

  “I didn’t sleep at all,” I said. “Maybe because I was holding onto my gun, waiting all night for a little dick to jump out of the shadows, despite my aunt and uncle kicking Mojo out until I’m gone.”

  Max craned her head toward Lenny Stearns and Carmine O’Brien, who had just entered the breakroom. “Speaking of little dicks, we got company.”

  I looked over and saw the snarky little cops were with a couple women I’d never seen before. After getting coffee, the guys came over and introduced us to Laverne Piper and Penny Kurtz who had just been reassigned to Precinct Blue.

  Laverne was about forty, but was trying way too hard to look a decade younger. She was a big woman, dealing with the effects of a fat bomb that time was exploding in her hips. She had a pile of dark hair big enough to lose a poodle in, and enough makeup for a clown convention.

  Penny, in contrast, was probably a decade younger than her companion and looked like she spent her spare time in a gym, a plastic surgeon’s office, and under a sunlamp. Not to be catty, but she looked like she’d cornered the market on silicone and blonde hair.

  “Madison’s here for killing her partner, and Max whacked a perp,” Lenny told the two women, after we exchanged greetings.

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” I said, glaring at the tubby little jerk. “My partner fell into a vat of grease and drowned.”

  “I heard about you,” Laverne said to me. “You’re the one who offed the alien.”

  Max scowled at her. “She just told you, she didn’t kill nobody.”

  Penny smacked her gum and fixed her eyes on Max. “What exactly was your crime, honey?”

  “A DV suspect fell and cracked his noggin. Somehow that was my fault.” Max regarded both women. “How ‘bout you two?”

  “I just got a talent for rubbing some people the wrong way,” Laverne said. She looked at her skinny partner. “And Penny brings out a jealous streak in certain parties, if you know what I mean.”

  “Had a female LT,” Laverne’s partner explained. “She tried to sleep with my ex-boyfriend.”

  The ex-boyfriend comment immediately sparked Lenny and Carmine’s interest.

  “You two wanna get a drink after work tonight?’ Carmine asked them. “We know this place down the block that has happy hour till seven.”

  Laverne smacked her gum, looked at Penny, and raised a brow. “If you guys are buying, we’re there.”

  “I’m in,” Penny said, adjusting her si
licone tit holder, something that wasn’t lost on her new friends. “After a day in Blue Hell, I’m gonna need something to drown my sorrows.”

  After the chummy quartet wandered off, Max said, “I’m startin’ to feel like a wallflower at a high school reunion.”

  “I doubt the four of them ever graduated.” I lowered my voice, changing the subject. “Amy called me on the way to work this morning. She said one of her informants knows Peter Baylor. He’s a broker.”

  “I don’t suppose we’re talking real estate or stocks?”

  “He sells the girls he takes to the highest bidder. He’s also got a history of violence. She’s hoping her informant can get a lead on where he might have taken the girls.”

  “Let’s hope so. The clock is ticking.”

  After roll call, we spent our entire day relearning basic officer safety skills, everything from how to handcuff a subject, to the use of non-lethal force. We had the misfortune of the lieutenant teaming us up with Lenny and Carmine during one of the use-of-force drills. Carmine took the opportunity to fondle Max’s ample breasts when she was pinned to the ground. Max took the opportunity to pay him back with close quarters ball busting. Her victim was still whining about taking a knee as they left for happy hour with Laverne and Penny.

  After leaving work, I told Max that I’d see her tomorrow for our move. When I got home, Amy called, telling me, “We’re a go to meet at Schofield’s over on Wayland at eight.”

  After my lack of sleep and spending the day tossing bodies around, I was nearly out on my feet. “What are you talking about?”

  “That Hunks in a Tux dating website finally came through. We got us a double date with a couple of guys in tuxes that look like Bradley Cooper and Matthew McConaughey.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Of course, and, just so you know, I got dibs on Cooper. What you gonna wear?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea. Can’t we do this another time? I’m exhausted.”

  “Just throw on a LBD, get yourself a latte with a double shot, and you’ll be fine.”

  “A what?”

  “A little black dress. See you at Schofield’s. Don’t be late.” The line clicked dead.

  I groaned and dragged myself over to my closet. The last thing I wanted to do was go out with a couple guys from a computer dating service. I knew that Amy was in rebound mode from the breakup of her marriage and I made a mental note to have a talk with her about it.

  I flipped the light on in my closet and began rummaging through a rack of dresses, most that looked like they should be in a thrift store, when my hand brushed against something. No, make that someone.

  I jumped back and screamed. “I don’t believe this!”

  “Surprise!” Mojo said, taking a step forward.

  I flinched and moved back, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Then I realized Mojo was wearing one of my bras and a thong.

  “What the fuck is the matter with you?” I screamed.

  He laughed like an escapee from an insane asylum. “I wanted to get a feeling for the real you.” He ran a hand over the bra and then grabbed his member, which was trying desperately to escape from my lacy thong.

  I went over and found my gun, levelling it on him. “How in the hell did you get in here?”

  He smiled and continued to grope himself. “I heard you were moving out this weekend. I’m planning to makeover the place, and Aunt Lucy said I could take some measurements.”

  My aunt and uncle weren’t home, so I couldn’t verify what he’d said. I took a step closer to him, continuing to point my weapon at him. “Get your things and get the hell out. Now.” He started to take off my underwear. “Leave them on. I never want to see them or your nasty little pecker again.”

  After a final grope, he slipped into his pants and T-shirt, then gave me a toothy grin. “Just so you know, your bra almost fits me. You ever thought about getting a boob job?”

  “The only thing I’m thinking about is shooting the boob standing in front of me. Get out!”

  He stumbled up the stairs, with me following. I made sure he was out of the apartment and locked the door. After he was gone, I slumped against the door, exhaling and lowering my weapon. My only consolation over the night’s events was knowing that tomorrow I was moving. I might end up living with the dead, but at least I wouldn’t have the world’s biggest pervert stalking me.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Schofield’s Bar was located in the Bronx. Amy and I had been there a couple times before. From what I remembered about the place, the owner’s great-grandfather had been stationed at Schofield Barracks in Hawaii during World War II. The namesake bar was decorated with memorabilia and photographs of the army base, including posters for From Here to Eternity, which had been filmed there.

  After stopping for a latte with extra shots of caffeine, I texted Amy, insisting that she meet me outside the establishment before entering. We met up on the sidewalk, where I saw she was wearing a dress that was well north of mid-thigh. After we said hello, she asked me what I thought of her outfit.

  “Ah…well, it’s a little…revealing.”

  She sighed. “You think I look like a tramp.”

  “No. It’s just that…I guess I’m not used to either of us dressing like this.” I tugged at the hem of my dress. “I can’t remember the last time I wore a dress and went out on the town.”

  “I guess we’re both a little out of practice.”

  I glanced over at the bar. “Do you really think this is a good idea? We don’t even know these guys.”

  “That’s why there’s two of us, and we’re meeting in neutral territory. Besides, what have we got to lose?”

  I yawned. “A good night’s sleep.”

  She regarded me. “Are you getting soft on me, Maddie?” She smiled. “Remember that night we spent with Donna and Benny Starkweather when we were nineteen?”

  Amy and I had spent all night drinking with a college friend and her brother. The four of us had barely avoided a drunk and disorderly arrest.

  “How could I forget?” I exhaled, then added, “It’s just that I’ve already had a traumatic evening.” I took some time as we walked toward the bar, telling her about Mojo.

  “He was really in your closet?”

  “Wearing my thong and bra.”

  “That guy is one sick mofo. He’s desperately in need of a payback.”

  “Since we’re moving tomorrow, I’d settle for never seeing his ugly face—or his even uglier privates—again.”

  We spent about ten minutes strolling through the club before a waiter told us our dates were in a back booth, near the restrooms. When we found their table, Amy had to hold onto my arm to keep me from turning around and walking out.

  “I’m Darryl, and this is my Go-Bro, Merrill,” the older of the two men said, offering a hand. He was probably in his late twenties, with green eyes and gelled brown hair that was styled in that fashion that reminded me of a child’s Kewpie doll.

  “Your Go-Bro?” Amy said, regarding Merrill, his shorter, blonder companion.

  “We’re like those cameras that are mounted on people’s heads, always ready to catch some action,” Merrill said, signaling a server. The younger of the two men was handsome and charming, in a teenage boy kind of way. Instead of tuxedos, our dates were both wearing those novelty tuxedo T-shirts. While they weren’t exactly hunks, their shirts were probably intended to be a walking advertisement for the website, Hunks in a Tux.

  I let Amy make the introductions, since I was rendered speechless, or maybe just appalled, by our dates. As the server came over, and our dates ordered drinks, I whispered to Amy, “Which one’s Bradley Cooper?”

  She lowered her voice. “I think we got the Neanderthal cousins.”

  “Can we get out of here?”

  She shook her head. “I got a plan.”

  Amy’s plan involved us spending the next hour letting Darryl and Merrill buy us drinks while we got to know them. We’d used the
cover stories that we’d come up with earlier, telling our dates that we worked in personnel management, which wasn’t too far from the truth.

  After our drinks arrived, Amy sipped her Manhattan, set the glass down, and asked Darryl, “What line of work are you in?”

  His emerald eyes, that I decided were the work of contact lenses, momentarily shifted to his Go-Bro. “I’m actually…” He cleared his throat. “I’m involved in high finance. I deal with tax and monetary issues.”

  “You mean you’re an accountant?” I asked.

  “In so many words.”

  I saw that his companion was smiling and realized we were being played. I said to Merrill, “Exactly what words is Darryl leaving out?”

  Merrill burst out laughing, spitting his drink across the table. He wiped his chin. “Sorry.”

  Darryl glared at his Go-Bro, lowering his voice and saying to him, “I thought we had an agreement, dude.”

  Merrill was still trying to control his laughter. “Sorry, it’s just that…” He broke into another spasm of laughter. “I just can’t…”

  “All right,” Amy said, her gaze moving between the two men. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Merrill had made the mistake of sipping his beer again. This time when he laughed, he covered his mouth and most of it went into his napkin. When he’d regained some control, he said, “My bro…his job is wearing a gorilla suit.”

  “Really,” Amy said, looking at her Bradley Cooper wannabe. “So you’re an accountant who beats his chest?”

  Darryl sighed and shook his head. “Awright, I confess. The truth is I work for Apeschlitz Accounting Services. I wear a gorilla suit and stand on the sidewalk, trying to get customers.”

  “I’ve seen you before,” I said. “You work at that place over on Adams Avenue. People drive by, honk their horns, and give you the finger.” I got a head nod, more laughter from Merrill.

  Darryl glared at his companion again. “Your turn, bro. Why don’t you tell them about your work as an environmental scientist?”

  “That sounds impressive,” I said, looking at Merrill.