Crimes on Latimer: From the Early Cases of Marco Fontana

by DeMarco, Joseph R. G.

  Us? I thought. When I looked around I was alone. Luke had disappeared.

  Someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around my fist balled, ready to strike. I stopped just before I hit Luke square in the face.

  He flinched and backed off, a frightened expression on his face. Black eyes glittering, he looked at me as if he didn’t know me.

  “Wh-what was that all about?”

  “Sorry.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “You came up behind me and… this is my old turf, Luke. Someone comes up from behind, you don’t turn around expecting a box of cannoli. You hit first, eat the pastry after.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “Where’d you get to, anyway?”

  “Got the license number while you were gabbing with Dillinger’s mother.”

  “Great!”

  “I wandered away to look over the front yards. Some of them are pretty cool. Flowers, gnomes, all kinds of stuff. I saw the car pull up and realized it was Carl. A split second later I heard the old bat scream. So I took down the license number.”

  “You’re amazing!”

  “Now what do we do?”

  “We wait. We’ll catch him again. In the meantime I’ve got a couple of leads to run down. Why don’t I drop you back at your place?”

  “You sure you don’t need me?” Luke asked, a note of disappointment in his voice.

  “I’ve gotta talk to Marty and Preston. It’d be better if I did that on my own. They won’t talk freely with someone else around. You know how it is.”

  ***

  While we were heading back into center city, Luke’s cell phone rang. I watched him react as he talked. When he was finished, he said he had a major crisis on his hands. Two of his boys had gotten into some kind of trouble and he’d have to sort things out. I dropped him off at his building and watched him for a moment before I drove off.

  I got to the office just as Olga was leaving. Being part time, she left early most days.

  “Messages are on desk.” She pointed to my office door. “Someone is also wanting to see you. He will return but will call first. Tall man. Dramatic queen. You are knowing who this is?” She gave me no chance to respond. “I am leaving now. My sister makes dinner tonight for whole family for the birthday of a grandchild. I will help, but why is so much a fuss over birthdays children never remember? I am never knowing.”

  She was out the door, and I was left wondering who it was I should expect. A tall drama queen could describe a lot of people. Flipping through the pink message sheets I saw there was no note about this guy, whoever he was.

  Then there was a knock on the door, and Martin waltzed in. Of course, tall drama queen. Described him perfectly.

  “He called again.”

  “No hello?”

  “This is serious, Fontana. He called again after sending me more photographs. Two sets.”

  “Did he give you a deadline this time?”

  “Yes.” Martin clenched his teeth. “A week. He wants the money in a week. He wants me gone from my job and he said the blog has to be taken down, too. If not, he brings this stuff to whoever he’s got that will take care of me once and for all.”

  I held out my hand for the folder.

  “Tell me you’ve made some progress. Because if you haven’t, I don’t know what I’ll do. This guy sounds serious. He’s out to get me hurt. Not just my reputation but me.”

  “Stay calm, Marty. Lemme have a look at the folder.”

  He handed me the brown folder which contained two sets of pictures clipped together.

  “Just more of the same?” I asked before I looked at them.

  “One set is pictures of me and some guy. Like the others. But these are clearer, more distinct. How he got them, I’ll never know. And it wasn’t my home system. I never took that kid to my apartment. We always went to hotels. Nice ones. I suppose someone had me followed.”

  “That’s all? Just more sex pictures…” I let the question linger a bit.

  “The others are some of that mob guy. It was funny because when I saw them they looked fam…” His jaw skidded to a stop.

  “What’s that, Martin?” I waited. There was no response, which was in itself a response. “You know something, Martin. Let’s have it.”

  “Can’t reveal my sources,” he said weakly.

  “You can’t reveal to the government, maybe. But you hired me to help, damn it, so don’t pull the journalistic integrity crap with me.”

  He stared at me half defiant, half scared.

  “Marty, you print sleaze, you trade in people’s reputations, and you roll in the muck. And now you’re gonna hold out on the one guy who can hold his nose and try to help you?”

  “Still…”

  “Still, shit. That’s your attitude, I can’t help you. I’ll give back your retainer.”

  “I don’t think the information is relevant to your investigation.” Martin sat up in his chair and stared.

  “I’ll tell you what’s relevant, unless you think you can figure this one out for yourself.” I pulled an envelope out of my desk. It didn’t have cash in it but it looked like it had a wad of bills. I saw Marty’s eyes glom onto the envelope.

  “All right! Marco, you’re a real prick.”

  “Thanks. Now give.” I slowly placed the fat envelope back into the drawer, wondering exactly what was in it.

  “Those photos,” he started then stopped and reached over for the folder.

  “Which?”

  “These.” He pulled out the group with the very familiar, thuggish looking Italian guy. “I got them while I was doing an investigation of Mafia influence in city government.”

  “You know who that is, then.” I knew, but I wanted to make sure Marty did.

  “His name is Jimmy. Jimmy Three Toes. At least that’s what he’s called.”

  “So your blackmailer pal is gonna turn these over to Jimmy.”

  “That’s what I can’t understand. Pictures of Jimmy are all over the place. For all he knows, I could’ve gotten them from the newspaper photo office. Stock images. I was doing an article on the mob. Just another routine piece. Nothing spectacular. So why would Jimmy care?”

  “My question exactly,” I said. “Maybe you hit on something in your article. Something hot. Something that even you don’t know is hot. And maybe these guys want to stop you.”

  “I can’t imagine what that might be.”

  “Maybe it’s got something to do with this other set of pictures,” I said and flipped the cover off the second, larger set. I tried not to react when I saw the first picture. It wasn’t easy. It felt as if I’d been punched.

  The immensity of Marty’s problem became evident in a flash. It wasn’t Jimmy and it wasn’t Marty’s other extracurricular activities that were his problem. It was the young man in these photos.

  “You do realize who this is you’re fooling around with? In these photos?”

  “Some Italian kid. We were introduced by the same guy who told me where I could get my hands on that mob information.”

  “You had no idea who this kid was when you were introduced?”

  “None. I’d never seen him before. He was an unknown quantity. Maybe that’s why I liked the little greaser,” Marty stopped and shot me a look as if he knew what kind of mistake he’d just made. For some reason I was feeling generous, so I said nothing. Maybe it was because I knew who the kid was and what this kid’s “family” would do to Marty if they saw these pictures.

  “You were saying…?”

  “He was new. I like ‘em new. You know that.” Marty looked up at me. “This kid said he never gets out because his family is strict and keeps him on a short leash. But he was hot to trot and…” He stopped. Stared at me then looked down at the floor and shook his head. “Who is he? You seem to know something I don’t.”

  “I’m not surprised you don’t know him, even with all the gossip you spread and your investigative journalism. This one they keep under wraps.”

  “Who
is he?” Martin screeched out the question.

  “You know Vincenzo Chiari?”

  “Vincenzo… Vin—Vincenzo Chiari? The Vincenzo Chiari?” The panic in Martin’s eyes would’ve been enjoyable if this wasn’t so serious. Marty was as good as dog meat if these photos got back to Chiari. “But… but… it can’t be. Chiari’s an old man. This was a kid. A nice kid. He didn’t, I mean, he wasn’t… How could I know? Is he related to Chiari?”

  “Oh yeah, Marty. He’s related. He’s Vincenzo’s son. His only son.” I would’ve gone on and given him a list of reasons that Vincenzo had big plans for his son, had invested his whole life in his son. But I allowed Martin to figure it out for himself. All I could do was watch as the full horror of the situation began to sink in.

  “Fuck. Shit. I’m a dead man. I’m as good as… But I didn’t know. The kid was— wait a minute. Tell me something, Fontana.”

  I nodded.

  “He’s legal, right? I mean, the kid’s over eighteen, isn’t he?”

  “Sure, that’s not the problem, Marty. I think you understand that. The kid’s legal but he’s not on the open market. In fact, I’d go so far as to say he’s like the rarest of rare commodities. And you’ve just spoiled it.”

  “But it’s not my fault the kid is gay. That’s just the way it is. And I didn’t ask him to do anything. He came on to me.”

  “Vincenzo isn’t gonna care who came onto who. He isn’t gonna care which way the kid is wired. All he’s gonna care about is who opened his rarest bottle of wine and sampled it. Ruined it, you might say.”

  “But, I…” Marty slumped back into his chair.

  “Who could’ve done this? Who took these pictures?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know.” He’d lost all his hauteur. Panic was beginning to supplant everything else. I needed to keep him from going over the edge, so we could make some progress.

  “Think back. How’d you meet the kid? When did this happen? Where?”

  “Questions. I need help, Fontana, not questions.”

  “Well, maybe you’d better leave, then. Vincenzo won’t ask you any questions. He’ll just do what needs doing. According to his lights. For you, that means lights out.”

  Martin’s head snapped up and he stared at me. He was angry, but it was a toothless anger. I wanted to enjoy this but I couldn’t. He was a slimy, smug, arrogant man, and he’d caused a lot of problems for a lot of people. But he was really just a helpless jerk now. A jerk on the run from himself. I didn’t think he liked himself very much. He knew that nearly everyone hated him, so creating fear in others was the only way he could get anyone to even pretend to respect him. Now, the fear was his, and it was worse than anything he could ever have created for anyone with his work. Worse yet, he’d done it to himself.

  “What’ll it be, Marty?”

  “I’m not going to let that happen,” he mumbled. “I’ll… I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t let Vincenzo near me.”

  Keeping Vincenzo from getting him was the heart of the problem. There was only one thing that might work and Marty wasn’t going to like it. But things he’d said piqued my interest and I needed to know more before I presented him with my solution to his problem.

  “Let’s start at the beginning. You said the kid was introduced to you by the same guy who led you to information on the mob and to Jimmy’s pictures, right?”

  “Yeah, yes. But he’s a nothing. A little zero. He can’t possibly—”

  “If I’m gonna help you, I need to know everything you can tell me. I may need access to your files.”

  “Everything…?”

  “Only if necessary. You’ll have to trust me.”

  “All right. Just help me, Fontana.”

  “First, who was it that got you the mob information and introduced you to the kid?” I leaned forward to hear his reply.

  “A guy named Carl—”

  “Sorriso.”

  “H-how did you know?”

  “Lucky guess. Tell me more.”

  “He was trying to worm his way back into my life.”

  “You dumped him, right? Big splashy breakup, right?”

  “He was a conniving little shit. All he wanted was to be close to me and to the people I knew.” Martin took deep breaths as if trying to calm himself. “He was too high maintenance, too full of drama. I mean, who needs that?”

  Sure, who needed that, when Martin was himself the highest maintenance and most dramatically inclined queen of all?

  But if I remembered anything about Carl, I knew that he was a bad seed. The type that never forgets a slight and wouldn’t have been very happy being dumped. Especially by someone like Martin, a local celebrity who’d made a big deal of the breakup and never let Carl forget who dumped who and what the dumpee was losing in the deal.

  “I don’t suppose he was happy to be thrown over?”

  “Him? That little ingrate? I guess no one likes being dumped. But Carl went nuclear. He said I’d betrayed him, just like others in his life. Carl let me know in no uncertain terms that he’d get even. An empty threat, though. He doesn’t have the wherewithal. Not in any sense.”

  “I’d say he found the wherewithal.” I fingered the file folder with the pictures.

  “And I let myself get sucked in…” Martin stared glumly at the pictures. “When he came sniffing around and said he had information I could use, I stupidly listened. He gave me some sob story about being rejected by everyone else. But that he liked me and wanted to help me with information. All he wanted was to be friends again. That’s what he said. Like some grammar school kid on a playground.”

  “Any idea who Carl hooked up with after you rejected him?” I knew he would, him being the biggest gossip monger in the city.

  “Of course I know. Don’t be silly. Martin Van knows everything about everyone. People expect me to know. And I do.”

  “So, are you going to tell me or do I have to wait for the memoirs? Believe me, neither you nor I have that long, Martin.” I smirked.

  “Carl, the little shit, made the rounds after me and let everyone know what he was doing, too. He hopped into lots of beds. First he went after my best friend, Leehane Deckham. You should know the name. Big society queen. No one breathes without consulting him first. Carl moved in on him like a barracuda. Leehane never knew what hit him. When he was satisfied with that, Carl moved on to other friends of mine. I guess he was pointing out just how shallow and disloyal they all could be. I’m not sure that was his intention. He isn’t that subtle. But it was the result, nonetheless. I haven’t been able to see those so-called friends in the same way since.”

  “That’s it?”

  “He made a play for others. Your friend Sammy included. That’s how he learned that Sammy was working on some mafia assignment, too. Carl had no idea what it was, and Sammy dumped him before he could find out. But he knew something, and he told me I should ask Sammy for help on my investigative series.”

  “Then? What’d he do after Sammy?” I didn’t remember much about Sammy being with Carl. Their “thing” must have lasted about three minutes, which wasn’t unusual for Sammy but the boyfriends never liked that treatment. And some of them never forgot. Carl was one of those.

  “He went back to sleeping around. Sometimes with friends of mine.”

  “And they all sent him packing?”

  “Not all. Not right away?”

  “Who did he stick with the longest?”

  “That’s easy. The one who tolerated him the most, the one who gave him the longest leash.”

  “And that would be…?”

  “Preston. You know Preston.”

  “Preston Flaherty.” Now we were getting somewhere. Except I thought Press had dumped Carl. “Didn’t Press dump the kid? He got bored with Carl and gave him the heave-ho.”

  “Dump Carl? He tried but Carl apparently had his hooks in too deeply. If you know what I mean.” Martin had regained some of his haughtiness. The self-satisfied smirk was calculat
ed to let the observer know that Martin was in another league entirely when it came to information.

  “No, I don’t know what you mean. What hooks could a guy like Carl have?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Could be he heard something or saw something that might make it easier for Press to keep him close at hand rather than let him wander off and blab what he knew.”

  “You know something, Martin, don’t you?” I glared at him. “Enough games. Tell me or leave.” Which I didn’t really want him to do, because I knew this had something to do with Sammy, whose case I was most interested in.

  “Carl had seen some incriminating evidence about Press when he was staying with Sammy. That’s part of what he’d come to give me, that and the other mob material Sammy had collected. When I went to see Sammy, I found out that Press was, and is, involved, up to his too-large hips in mob connections and money. And Carl had seen some of that.”

  I nodded. These guys all deserved one another, you ask me.

  “That’s what he told me when he came sniffing around trying to get back into my good graces. I told him that I was grateful but that nothing was going to happen between us ever again.”

  “How’d he take that?”

  “He said he just wanted to be friends. That he knew we’d never be together again but that my friendship meant more to him and he hoped we could have that back.”

  “That when he introduced you to Vincenzo’s kid?”

  “He said he wanted to show me that he was my friend and he knew someone I’d love to meet. Someone new and interesting.”

  “He knows your soft spot. I guess he ought to.”

  “I took them both to dinner, and at some point Carl left the two of us alone.”

  “Tell me, was Carl in your apartment some time before the three of you went to dinner?”

  “When he gave me the information about Sammy’s research and Press. And the night we went to dinner, they both stopped by for a drink first and…” Martin stopped, his voice trailed off.

  I waited for him to connect all the dots.

  “What a fool I am. He’s in my place and I’m not paying attention. Didn’t think I had to pay attention. That’s when he must’ve placed the cameras.”

  “You’re right, Marty. No doubt in my mind.”