A Bullet for Carlos

by Giacomo Giammatteo

  “You tell them I said to hurry the fuck up. I want him out of here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tip hustled after the gurney carrying Connie and followed them to the hospital. “God, don’t you dare let her die, hear me. She deserves more than this.”

  The trip to the hospital seemed to take forever, but the next four hours, while she was in surgery, was even worse. Tip jumped up when the doctor came out, anticipation riddling his body. “Is she okay?”

  “She’ll live, but she has a lot of healing to do. She suffered tremendous physical damage: broken ribs, a broken nose, broken teeth, and her jaw took a very bad beating.”

  Tip kept nodding his head as the doctor gave his report. “Anything else? I mean, was she…raped?”

  The doctor lowered his head. “No semen, but there was heavy vaginal bruising and tearing. I’d say yes.”

  Tip grabbed his arm. “Doctor, listen, don’t tell her about that, okay?”

  “I’m afraid we can’t do that.”

  “Do you know anything for sure?”

  “Not for sure.”

  “Then don’t say anything. What good will it do? I’ve heard that a good mental attitude goes a long way in healing people. If that’s the case, don’t you think she’d heal better if she doesn’t know?”

  The doctor started to say something, then stopped. “Perhaps you’re right, Detective. But if I find out for certain…”

  “If you find out for certain, I’ll go with you when you tell her. How’s that?”

  It produced the first smile Tip had seen on the doctor. “That would be fine. Now let me go see my patients.” As he started off down the corridor, he turned back to Tip. “She’ll be in excruciating pain for a while, though I’ve prescribed medication that will help.”

  “Thanks.”

  While Tip waited, he called Connie’s lieutenant from Brooklyn, letting him know what happened. The guy seemed genuinely concerned, asking lots of questions. Then, several minutes later he got a call from someone named Frankie who not only expressed his concern over Connie’s condition, he even told Tip he should post a watch on her room. Tip tried telling Frankie that the guy was dead, but Frankie wouldn’t hear anything of it. Regardless, Tip planned on staying with her until she regained consciousness.

  Frankie got off the phone, pondering what to do. He had warned the detective—Tip, his name was—but it didn’t seem as if he took it seriously. He walked around the room, pacing like he always did when he got nervous. A cigarette dangled from the left side of his mouth, a habit he had picked up at a young age and never seemed to break. “Fuck it,” he said, and dialed a number on a throwaway cell phone he had.

  “Pronto.”

  “Go to a private phone and call this number back.” Frankie repeated the number to him, and within two minutes his phone rang. “Hello.”

  “Who is this?”

  “This is Frankie Donovan. I’m calling to let you know that Connie Gianelli is hurt and is in a hospital in Houston. She might still be in trouble. They never caught Carlos.”

  A long pause followed his statement. “Detective Donovan, I am in your debt. Anything—”

  “None of that shit, Mangini. I don’t want anything from you. The only reason I’m calling is because I don’t trust those people to keep her safe.”

  “And you think that I can?”

  “I know you can. And now I’m through with this conversation.”

  “Goodbye, Detective.”

  Dominic hung up the phone and called for Zeppe. “Concetta is hurt,” he said, then told Zeppe what happened. “Get hold of Nurse Crincoli and get her to Houston immediately.”

  “We should go,” Zeppe said.

  “We can’t do that. It’s one thing for a neighbor to visit her in the hospital up here when she is a hero cop, but to go all the way to Texas would look too suspicious.” He walked from the counter to the table and back again several times. “We need to get her back to Brooklyn.”

  “She won’t come back till she gets Carlos. You know what a testa dura she is.”

  “Then we need to help her with that. Get Fabrizio. We’ll find this Carlos and end it once and for all.”

  Tip kept vigil in Connie’s room, waiting for her to come to. Late the second night she came fully awake. Tip smiled, then moved his chair close to the bed, holding her hand. “How you doin’, girl?”

  She could barely talk, but managed to get out, “Okay.”

  “We got him.”

  “Jail?”

  Tip checked to make sure no one was around. “Dead as duck shit. I put five in him. I really wanted to kick the living shit out of him, but circumstances wouldn’t allow it. Now, of course, I’m on the desk until the shooting gets cleared.”

  She smiled and squeezed his hand.

  “Can’t believe it was him all along,” Tip said. “All the evidence was there though. He worked out at the gym with Patti Green, and he was in on the 5k run she did. He knew Mason from charity events. And Gardner worked for him. Santiago he met at the ball, and I’d bet he knew her from before.”

  She shook her head, disbelief showing even in her bruised and battered face. “Can’t believe…you made me go out with him.”

  Tip patted her hand. “I’m sorry about that. I don’t…” He stopped before tears came.

  Connie tried smiling. “Not your fault,” she said, then reached for her face. “Bet I look…bad.”

  “Bad? You look great if you ask me, that is for a woman who has a broken nose, teeth knocked out, broken ribs, and other things.”

  “Maybe it’s time…”

  “What?”

  She pointed to her nose.

  He shook his head. “Don’t you dare get that fixed; that’s what makes you sexy.”

  She smiled. “Never called…me sexy.”

  “I didn’t want to swell your head.”

  She lost her smile and started to cry. “Did he…”

  Tip reached over and hugged her, careful not to cause pain. “He was trying but I told you, I plugged his ass five times. Almost sent him through the wall into your neighbor’s house.”

  Connie’s look demanded an answer.

  Tip didn’t say anything.

  “Tip?”

  He held her hand, stared into her eyes. He had planned on a bold-faced lie, and found he couldn’t do it. “I don’t know, but…yeah, he probably did.”

  More tears flowed.

  Tip sat silent for a minute, then he got the nerve to tell her. “They let Carlos go. The DA said we couldn’t hold him.”

  She nodded.

  Tip talked to Connie for the next thirty or forty minutes, but she was fading. Shortly afterwards, a nurse came in.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked Tip.

  “I’m her partner.”

  “You should go soon. This woman needs rest.”

  Tip looked at Connie, and she nodded.

  He leaned down, whispered in her ear, then kissed her on the head. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  As Tip drove home he cursed himself for not making the connection sooner. He should have been more on the ball, should never have let it get this far. Maybe if he’d been concentrating on his job instead of playing around with Elena, Santiago would still be alive…and Connie wouldn’t be in a hospital bed, beaten half to death.

  Anna Crincoli waited for the cop and the nurse to leave, then went into Connie’s room. She pulled the covers up over Connie, turned off the television and the lights, then went to rest in a corner chair, tugging a light blanket over her shoulders to keep warm. She had dressed for the Texas weather, but hadn’t counted on the air conditioning. Damn hospitals were so cold.

  She drifted off and on into a light sleep, catching ten or twenty minutes here and there, but she awoke with each strange sound. During one of her dozes, she heard footsteps in the hall. They weren’t rushed or heavy, or even the casual walk of a night-duty nurse; these were the determined footsteps of someone who wanted to be qui
et. She came alert but stayed in a resting position, eyes closed, head leaning against a pillow. A few seconds later the door opened, slowly. Two men crept in. They stepped quietly to the bed where Connie lay, one at her side, the other at the foot of the bed. The one next to her picked up a pillow and placed it over her face, holding it down with both hands.

  Crincoli reached under her blanket and pulled out her gun, a Beretta 92FS with an SWR Trident 9 silencer. She stood and took two steps toward the men, then she fired. A pop…pop… noise sounded in the room. The man smothering Connie went down. Crincoli moved her gun arm slightly, pointing it at the other.

  He stared for a second, then grabbed a pillow and threw it, rushing her at the same time. Crincoli was a small woman, but she held her ground. Crouching, she fired twice. Both shots entered the man’s chest. As he fell to the floor, she put the final two bullets into him, then walked over to check on Connie. The drugs had her groggy, but she seemed okay. Crincoli checked the hallway, then walked quietly to the stairs.

  ***

  I had fond memories of my early life, mostly the little things. A warm feeling rushed through me as I felt a gentle pat on the head from Uncle Dominic for a chore well done. And saw his beaming smile as he read the grades on my newest report card. And I saw him standing and clapping at the school play, his applause somehow louder than all the others, his smile brighter. I never thought of why Dominic’s attention was more important than Zeppe’s, maybe it was because Dominic was so difficult to impress.

  The noise of someone screaming jolted me awake. It probably woke the whole floor. Two nurses were by my bed, one asking if I was all right.

  “Call the police,” the other nurse said.

  “Are you okay?” someone else asked.

  I made out the blurry images of two men on the floor, and the room filling with people, then I faded out. The next thing I remember was Tip at my side. Four or five cops were milling about, one questioning the head nurse.

  “I only got a glimpse of her,” the nurse said. “She was a hard-looking woman, wiry, and with a bony face.”

  “What else can you tell me?” the cop asked.

  “She walked funny…like a man.”

  Crincoli, I thought.

  “You see anything?” Tip asked.

  I almost said something, but then Dominic’s words rang in my head. La famiglia è tutto.

  All these years, and I finally realized Dominic was right. Family is everything.

  I looked at Tip and shook my head. “Nothing,” I said, and immediately recalled what Donovan told me about lines and how I’d move one some day.

  A few of the cops seemed upset, wondering how a woman could come into a hospital, shoot two men and get out without being seen. I smiled. By now Nurse Crincoli was driving to a different city to catch some roundabout flights back to New York. All under an assumed name. I wondered how she got the gun so quick, but figured Dominic arranged for it with his connections.

  I blocked out the chaos in the room and closed my eyes. So much had happened. And there was so much still to decide. The most important thing was over; my name was cleared—thanks to Frankie—but Carlos was still on the loose. So where do I go? Back to Brooklyn, back to the rumors of Mafia connections? Or do I stay here and help Tip find Carlos.

  Regardless of what I decided, I had a lot of healing to do. They wouldn’t let me have a mirror, but I felt quite sure I looked like Frankenstein’s monster, or worse. That alone might require months of hibernation. And as much as I knew I’d fight it, I knew I was going to need some counseling. The rape aspect was already bothering me and it hadn’t even set in yet.

  It was time to build a new life, a new and better life, and as I mulled this over, I thought about the feelings I occasionally had for Tip, realizing that they were now cleared up. He was my partner, nothing more. I smiled, even though it hurt. My mind was made up. Look out, Texas. Here comes Connie Gianelli.

  Tip turned to one of the uniforms. “I want everybody questioned. Nurses, doctors, janitors, visitors. Renkin is going to have all our asses if we don’t find out what happened here.”

  Two cops left the room and Tip turned back to me.

  “I can’t believe I left you,” he said. “I should have never done it.”

  I held up my hand. “Don’t worry.”

  “No, it was stupid, but I didn’t expect Carlos to try something like this.” Tip held my hand. “I swear, I’m going to get that guy.”

  “Not without…me.”

  “You? Won’t you be going back to Brooklyn soon?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Tip squeezed my hand. “Ever give thought to moving down here? I still need a partner.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I guess we’ll have to figure out a way to keep you here for a while.”

  I thought about Tony and all the other people Carlos had killed. Then I thought about Kassie and Kelly. It confirmed my decision to stay. Tip’s earlier comment about putting five bullets in Maxwell came to mind. I tapped him on the arm. “Why only five?”

  Tip got a hard look on his face. “I saved the last one for Carlos. He’s going to pay for what he did to Kelly and Kassie.”

  “He…needs to, and I’d like to be there.”

  “Don’t talk so much, Gianelli.”

  “Getting easier. But I doubt Renkin wants me. He’s—”

  “The sweetest man you know?” Lieutenant Renkin entered the room carrying an armful of flowers. “Don’t get any ideas, Tip. These are for her.”

  I smiled at him, again drawing pain.

  He leaned over and kissed me, then glared at Tip. “You better find out what went on here, Denton. Besides the mess of having a shooting in a hospital, I can’t believe you almost let Gianelli get killed. It’s no wonder nobody wants to be your partner.” His smile returned as he faced me again. “And as far as not wanting you around. If you promise to keep a reign on this troublemaker for me, I’d pay you extra to stay here. He does need a partner.”

  “I’ll think on it,” I said, but couldn’t contain the excitement. Things were going to be all right after all.

  Chapter 60

  Future Plans

  Monterrey, Mexico

  Carlos Cortes greeted his wife, Marianna, and his children, Julio and Adalia, then sat in his favorite chair at the table on the flagstone patio. The evening had cooled now that the sun crept behind a few rare clouds, and he intended to enjoy it. “Marianna, would you join me in a glass of wine?”

  A warm smile lit her eyes. “I have to get the children ready for a visit. We are going to Teresa’s.”

  Carlos leaned over to hug his children, then stood to say goodbye to Marianna. “Have a good time,” he said, and pecked her on the cheek. “And please tell Tico to come in. He has been waiting.”

  Tico entered shortly after they left. “It’s good to be home, señor. I missed it.”

  “You don’t like Texas?”

  “It’s not that. More that I missed Monterrey.”

  “I noticed you standing there when I came in, Tico, and you had that look in your eyes. What bad news do you have?”

  “The men you sent to the hospital are dead. She is not.”

  Carlos lit a cigarette, dragging hard on it. “Can no one do what is expected of them?” He stood and walked across the patio, Tico following him. “What else do we know?”

  “She is still in the hospital, but under heavy protection. And the man who put her there was Señor Maxwell, the one from the charity benefit.”

  That revelation surprised Carlos. “Then he is the one who killed Mena?”

  “Mena and others,” Tico said.

  Carlos walked back to the table and crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. “I would have killed him myself if I had known. But it’s not surprising, the way his wife treated him.” Carlos pulled another cigarette from the pack, accepting Tico’s light. “I am smoking too much, Tico, but this is what happens when I get frustrated. And I get frustrated when wha
t I ask is not done.”

  “Si, señor. What would you have me do?”

  “What I asked to begin with. Is it so much? I want my drugs back.”

  Tico lowered his head. “Señor, that is the other problem. The drugs that were missing, they have now been found. It was the lieutenant from narcotics—Chambers—but now the Brooklyn police have it all.”

  Carlos inhaled deeply, held it, then blew smoke rings as he let it back out.

  “There is one bit of good news though. Our men in New York have learned something interesting. It is not confirmed yet, but—”

  Carlos turned abruptly to face Tico. “Tell me.”

  “We followed up on that lead of Mangini and the woman he dated. While searching the birth records around the time when Connie Gianelli was born, we also searched death records to find out when her father died. It seems as if this…father…had a very shallow history before his death, not much more than a birth certificate, a marriage license, a social security number, a driver’s license, and one credit card.”

  “I am waiting, Tico.”

  “I had men check with everyone we could from that old neighborhood. No one remembers Connie Gianelli’s mother with a Mr. Gianelli.”

  “Do they remember her with any man?”

  “Only one, señor—Dominic Mangini.”

  Carlos crushed out his cigarette as he stared out the window. “Are we certain that Dominic Mangini is her father?”

  “That, we do not know, señor, but something is not right.”

  “Get a bottle of wine, Tico, and we will share it on the patio. It is a beautiful evening.”

  Epilogue

  Tip took care of wrapping things up at the hospital, making sure Connie had twenty-four-hour protection. The lieutenant was still on his ass to find out who killed the gunmen, but that would die down in a day or so; besides, Tip didn’t want to look too hard. As he headed back home, he thought about all he’d been through the past few weeks, but with all of the excitement, the thing that he couldn’t shake from his mind was Connie. She was a different kind of woman.

  He went home, walked up the sidewalk slowly, remembering the days when Kassie and Kelly would have been there greeting him. Fighting tears that refused to quit, he walked in, stooping to hug Flash, who despite her wounds, insisted on limping over to greet him.