Murder Takes Patience

by Giammatteo, Giacomo

  “Nothing that can’t wait till I get back. And I’ll catch up on the hours. You know you don’t need to worry about that.”

  He laughed, some of the tension gone. “I know that, Nicky. I hope things are okay. Call me if I can do anything.”

  “Will do, Joe. Thanks.”

  The call reminded me that I had to get a burner. It would definitely be needed in New York. Didn’t want any calls traced to my phone. I got off the interstate a few miles up the road and went to a small town where I knew of a store with no video. I bought a disposable phone without ID—and without being captured on video—and grabbed a bite to eat, a bottled water, then got back on the turnpike.

  I couldn’t get the thoughts of Bugs out of my mind.

  Please let him be all right, God. He doesn’t deserve this.

  Especially not after all Bugs had been through. Not now, when his life seemed to be going so great, settled down with Kate and Alex. Bugs talked about Alex as if he were his own kid. Good for him. But I knew how easy that was to happen. Everybody thought Rosa was my daughter. She wasn’t, but I loved her as much as I could love anyone. Almost as much as Angie.

  I had to shake my head to clear it. Angie being pissed at me didn’t sit well. Made me nervous. Before I knew it I was doing ninety. Whoa, I need to slow this pony down.

  I thought about what Bugs could teach Alex. It brought back memories of the things we learned from our parents, or in my case, from Mamma Rosa. But we learned from other neighbors and from our friends’ parents. All of them preached about staying away from gangsters. They were a bad influence. But what they didn’t think of was that gangsters were a good influence too.

  They taught us other things—a different kind of honor, how to not rat out a friend, how to stick up for yourself, how to handle a situation you didn’t expect, and most importantly, how to stand by your friends and watch out for them. They didn’t have a lot of patience, and the whacks they gave us hurt more than the ones the nuns dished out, but there was a little bit of love in each lesson. And those lessons stuck with us. Maybe more than the others.

  There were things our parents taught us that were good, qualities they had that we admired and respected, but there were things we didn’t like about them too, and we swore we’d never be like that. The same went for the guys we loved growing up, the ones our parents called gangsters. They had bad habits and did a lot wrong, but they had admirable qualities too.

  The one thing that had the greatest impact on us was that they never judged us. They saw a different talent in each of us; we didn’t have to be the same.

  Doggs Caputo ran the mob operations in Wilmington. He always said that Tony was the smartest son of a bitch he’d ever seen for a kid. Tony had a mind like a steel trap and could remember almost anything without writing it down. Doggs used to give Tony assignments that played to that skill. And Frankie would do anything for money, no matter how tough it was. He never quit until the job was done. Doggs liked that, and he bragged about Frankie.

  Me, I was the one Doggs went to for the secret stuff. If he needed a numbers bag dropped somewhere, or a special delivery of sensitive materials, he’d send me. Doggs knew I’d never surrender that bag, and if I got caught by the cops, they’d never find out who gave me the bag. That’s why they called me ‘The Rat,’ because I wouldn’t talk no matter what. I guess the bottom line is that a person can learn good things from everyone, and anyone.

  A beeping horn brought me alert. I had drifted into the left lane. Wake up, Fusco.

  I got back to Frankie and his attack. The guy had used a knife. Why a knife? If a guy is targeting a cop, he could get a silencer. So why use a knife? Most people used knives on spur of the moment decisions, or to keep the noise down, or when they really don’t want to hurt someone, just frighten them. And it was Frankie’s own knife he used.

  What the hell? Did he come there to talk and something went wrong? Or did he plan on using Bugs’ knife?

  I was coming up on the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge when my home phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID. It was Angie. I grabbed it before the second ring. “Hey, babe. Sorry about earlier.”

  “Dad, it’s me.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “I’m fine, but what’s wrong? Mom is all upset and crying. I’ve never seen her like this. Did you guys fight or something?”

  Shit! “It’ll be okay, Rosa. Try to calm her down. Talk to her. Do…I don’t know…something.”

  “What happened?”

  “Bugs got stabbed. He’s in really bad shape. Last I heard he’s still in surgery. I’m on my way to see him.”

  “Oh my God! Why didn’t somebody tell me? Why didn’t you take me?”

  “It’s a long story. If you can do me a gigantic favor…please help your mom feel better. I need that.”

  “Okay, Dad. But call and let us know as soon as you get there.”

  “I will. Love you.”

  “I love you too, and tell Uncle Mario I love him.”

  “Count on it. Ciao.”

  “Ciao.”

  It broke my heart to hear that Angie was still so upset. I knew she would be, but I guess I hoped, somehow, that she wouldn’t be. I thought about everything she said—me missing work, risking prison again, the danger to myself—not to mention breaking my vow to her, and I knew she was right about all of it. But she never asked the most important question of all: What will happen if Dominic Mangini finds out I’m in town?

  I didn’t know the answer, but I knew I’d better figure it out. I was halfway across the bridge. I could see Brooklyn waiting for me.

  CHAPTER 34

  A Late-night Visit

  I got off the bridge and headed toward the hospital. There were a lot of things I had to do, and at the top of the list was smoothing things over with Dominic, but for now I’d have to risk his wrath. I needed to see Bugs. Alex hadn’t called, so I assumed Bugs was no worse…still, I needed to get there. I didn’t know what the visiting hours policy was, but one way or another I planned on getting in. I parked in a dark spot, checked to make sure no one was around, then strapped my gun to a special holder I had installed inside the wheel well. After that, I locked the car and went inside.

  “What room is Frankie Donovan in?”

  She didn’t even need to check. “He’s in ICU.”

  Before I could ask she pointed to the right. “Take that elevator and follow the cops. You’ll find him.”

  “Thanks.”

  I followed a couple of uniforms off the elevator. A few more were hanging around drinking coffee and looking nervous. “You know where Frankie Donovan is?”

  The one closest to me gestured with a nod of his head to the left. “Down there. They’re about to shut down visiting.”

  As I passed the waiting room I noticed half a dozen cops. Two more sat in the hall on chairs. Why were they in here instead of out looking for the guy who did this to Bugs? At the nurses’ station, a young woman filled out forms.

  “Frankie Donovan?” I asked.

  She looked at her watch, then back to me. “Room six, but you only have a few minutes.”

  “Thanks.”

  My pace slowed. I felt anxious about seeing him. Maybe I was afraid to see him. I never did like hospitals. I hesitated, finally got the nerve, and went in. Bugs was lying in a bed, tubes down his throat, oxygen mask on, IV in his arm. He had more monitors hooked up to him than NASA.

  Christ, he looks dead.

  A chair sat beside the bed, next to the nightstand. On the other side was a hospital tray for serving food. Bugs wouldn’t be needing that anytime soon. A plain-clothes cop lounged in a chair on the other side of the room. He was an older guy, and looked half asleep, but when I came in, he perked up. I could always tell a cop, no matter what they wore.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “Here to visit my friend.” I took the seat next to the bed. I lowered the rail so it wouldn’t be in the way, then for a minute or two I stared at Bu
gs. Just stared. My emotions were difficult to choke down. This was my best friend in life. If there was anybody I loved as much as Angie and Rosa, it was Bugs.

  I was afraid to talk, not wanting tears to come out in front of strangers. I figured the cop couldn’t hear me, so I risked whispering. “Can you hear me, Bugs? If you can hear me you better say something, ’cause I’m not saying this to your face.”

  I grabbed hold of his hand, leaned in and whispered, “I love you, Mario Francis Donovan.”

  I figured if anything would jar him awake it was calling him Mario Francis. He never moved. Didn’t smile, or squeeze my hand, or open his eyes. Slobber dripped from his mouth. I got a napkin from the nightstand and wiped it. He’d be pissed if he knew how they had him dressed. Ever since he was a kid, Bugs dressed to the nines. Always the nicest clothes, clean and pressed, and never out of style. Bugs had worn silk boxers when the rest of us had Fruit of the Loom. Pale-green hospital gowns wouldn’t cut it. I looked over and saw his Morseschi shoes, blood all over them. There would be hell to pay when he woke.

  I looked to my right, and the cop tensed, his hand inching toward his gun. He stopped when I shot him a glare. I shifted the chair, giving the cop more of my back, then I moved the water cup on the table next to the bed. Water pitcher was more like it, one of those giant plastic cups with a straw permanently attached. The ones everybody took home from the hospitals and, for some reason, kept. Maybe it was a reminder of a near-death experience. I leaned in close.

  “You’re a mess. You look worse than when we fought Browntown and got our asses kicked. Remember that?”

  I looked up at the monitors. His blood pressure was low—70 over 50. I patted his hand. “Did I ever tell you how much it meant that you stayed out with me the night my dad died? It meant a lot.”

  The nurse popped in. “It’s time. You can come back tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” I said, then turned to Bugs. “I’ll be back tomorrow. You hang in there.” I started to go then whispered in his ear. “And don’t worry, I will get the fucker who did this to you.”

  When I left, the cop from the room was already waiting in the hall. He held out his hand. “Lou’s my name.”

  I looked him over. He wore a suit, slightly crumpled. His shoes were worn and scuffed, and his hat looked as if it came from a movie set from the 1940s. I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.” I started to leave, but he stopped me.

  Two more cops were stationed down the hall, a woman and a guy. They weren’t in uniform but I knew they were cops. I could tell as sure as if they were elephants. The female stood, stared at me for a moment, then moved toward me. Lou waved her off. I noticed her attitude, though. Noticed the other cop, too. Tense. Nervous. She unsnapped the latch holding her gun.

  Trigger happy, are you?

  “Got a name?” Lou asked.

  “Why? Is it a crime to visit a friend?”

  “Who said anything about crimes? I asked if you had a name.”

  Once again, I turned to leave. This time he grabbed my sleeve.

  “Going to have to ask you to show me some ID.”

  I thought about what to do. I had several IDs on me. If I gave him a false one and he took my prints later, he’d see the difference. Now that he had me placed in Bugs’ room, there could be trouble for Bugs if anything happened. Bugs seemed to have good things to say about this guy—if he was who I thought he was.

  “Your name Mazzetti?”

  He looked surprised, but he nodded. “That’s me. How’d you know?”

  I decided to trust my gut, and held out my hand. “Nicky Fusco.”

  As we shook hands he stared. Recognition came almost immediately. “The Rat.”

  I didn’t smile. “Some people used to call me that.”

  “You gave us a good chase a while back.”

  “That was a long time ago. In a different life.”

  Lou smiled. “Yeah, I know. Anyway, nice of you to come all this way to see Frankie.”

  “I was going to be in the area.”

  “All the way from Philadelphia? Gonna be here long?”

  “I hope not.”

  “Here for anything in particular?”

  “Just to see Bugs.”

  “And that’s it? See Frankie?”

  “He’s my friend.”

  He patted my back. “Hope you have a good visit, Mr. Fusco. Have a good trip back.”

  “You’re not getting rid of me yet, Mazzetti.” I wrote my phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “Call me if anything happens. Please?”

  Mazzetti stared, then nodded. “I will. But don’t call me. I don’t need your number showing up on my phone.”

  “Right now, I need to find a place to stay. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  I walked down the hall, past the young black cop and the one pretending to be an intern. At the nurses’ station, I turned and pushed the button for the elevator. It was going to be a busy night.

  ***

  Sherri headed down the hall toward Frankie’s room, her head turning to check on the stranger’s departure. Lou was in the chair reading.

  “What was that about, Mazzetti? Why’d you stop me?”

  “He’s a friend of Frankie’s.”

  “He didn’t look like a cop. Do I know him?”

  Lou shook his head. “You don’t want to.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Lou put down his book. “You know how when you’re a kid in school there is always somebody who you think, ‘He’s going to be in jail someday’ or, ‘He’ll probably be a serial killer.’ Something like that?”

  “Sure, yearbooks are full of them.”

  “Well, this guy’s all of them rolled into one. Good thing is, if we take our time on this case, we might get it solved for us.”

  Sherri took one of her famous stances, hand on hip, lips pursed, eyes flaring. “There you go again with that shit talk of yours. You letting me in on this?”

  Lou looked at her for a long time. “I’ll tell you as a partner who loves you. But if you ever bring it up to anyone else, I’ll swear you are a raving lunatic who went off your meds.”

  “I get the picture. Go on.”

  “Remember those murders a few years back, the ones that put Bugs on top?”

  It didn’t take her long to recall. “Sure, the gruesome ones. Made both of you heroes.”

  Lou nodded toward the hall. “Far as I’m concerned, that’s the guy who did them. I’m only telling you because I have a feeling we might run into him as we continue this investigation, and the last thing I want is you going up against that guy.”

  She looked out the door, back down the hallway. “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “So you think he’s here…”

  “I think he’s the kind of guy who pays back favors.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I’m done talking about it, Sherri. All I know is that maybe we should find some deskwork to do for a few days. We may get lucky.”

  “And you’re okay with this…this…killer—chasing down our leads?”

  “Fine by me,” Lou said.

  “How is that fine? The guy is a killer. A goddamn—”

  He grabbed her arm. “How about you and me go outside for a minute?”

  Lou stood and yelled down the hall. “Bobby, watch Frankie. We’ll be right back.”

  Once outside he talked quietly and calmly. “Let’s get one thing straight. This guy has no charges against him and was never even questioned about those murders. Furthermore, he is not the kind of guy you want to accuse of being a murderer. And lastly, if this guy, no matter his talents, can help us catch the one who stabbed Donovan, I don’t give a shit if he killed Jesus Christ. I want that guy.” He glared at Sherri. “You’ve got to make up your mind if you can live with this, because I’m going with it.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Calling in a Favor

  I woke up early, showered, did some pushups on the floor, knocked
out a few hundred sit-ups, then put water on for coffee. While it dripped I checked my phone for messages. Nothing. Not from the hospital and not from Angie.

  Goddamn. Is she still pissed?

  I don’t know why that surprised me. It took a lot to set her off but once she got going, it took even more to bring her back. I looked at the clock—7:30. Angie would be up. I called her, let it ring five times. No answer. My gut twisted. I hated tension like this.

  I read the paper while sipping coffee—the real paper, not the digital news that Rosa read. Bugs was all over the headlines.

  Detective Stabbed. Police Have No Clues.

  Somebody was gonna catch a lot of shit about that one. Whether they had clues or not they didn’t want it spilled by the media. I scanned down the column. I didn’t know how current this was but the article said Bugs was still critical. I thought of calling Mazzetti but figured I’d stop by later. He seemed nervous when I gave him my number. He’d probably shit if I actually called him.

  The hospital would have to wait. I had urgent business to take care of and there was no sense in delaying; in fact, it was imperative that I not delay. The last time I was in New York I caused a lot of grief for the Five Families. It had been touch-and-go back then as to whether they’d come after me or not. Since then there had been an unwritten rule—if I stayed out of New York, they’d leave me alone. The reverse went without saying.

  After finishing the coffee I got my car and headed for Bensonhurst, about six miles away. Driving there brought back a lot of memories—good and bad. The bad mostly revolved around Tony and how I left him lying in blood.

  Mi dispiace, Mamma Rosa. I am so sorry.

  ***

  Manny lived in a modest house in Bensonhurst, a section of Brooklyn still heavily populated by Italians and peppered with Italian restaurants, shops, and cafés. I drove past his house, didn’t see anything out of place, then circled the block and parked at the next corner. I looked up his number and called from the burner as I walked down the brick sidewalk, past the breezeway, and up the three steps onto his porch.