Stakeout (2013)

by Hall, Parnell

  Jersey Girl had cheerfully admitted staying with Vinnie Carbone in the motel. Her explanation of why they’d had two rooms and then one was pretty thin. So was the reason for Vinnie keeping the room after they stopped using it.

  On the other hand, her assertion she and Tony Gallo weren’t having an affair also rang hollow. Was it conceivable Tony was making Vinnie rent a room for Tony to share with Vinnie’s girlfriend? That seemed unusually cruel. But then, maybe Tony Gallo was one of these sadistic sons of bitches who got off on dominating others, making them bend to his will. Forcing his subordinates to perform odious tasks, the more shameful and degrading the better.

  If that were the case, who killed Vinnie and why, and how did Jersey Girl wind up with the gun?

  I had one solution I didn’t particularly like. Vinnie Carbone, unable to stand up to his boss, stands up to his girlfriend and demands to know how she could treat him like that. He loses it, starts beating on her, and she has to shoot him.

  I realized that premise actually had several outcomes. I had chosen that particular one in order to make a case for her self-defense. Which was really silly. She didn’t deserve such consideration. If she were some hatchet-faced, flat-chested spinster, I’m sure self-defense would have never sprung to mind.

  Which was pretty stupid. The girl shouldn’t get a pass on her looks. Even if that scenario were true, it meant she was stupid enough to have hung onto the gun.

  No matter. I didn’t like the idea that she shot him at all. I mean, as a solution. I much preferred Tony Gallo shooting him. The motive was a little hard to find. The way I figured, if Tony was guilty, it had to be for another reason altogether. Tony would not kill off one of his henchmen in order to gain better access to his girlfriend, who was already making trouble for him with his wife. That just didn’t add up. No, if Tony killed him, it was either because Vinnie pissed him off, or because Vinnie had become a liability.

  The way I saw it, the main way Vinnie could be a liability would be to implicate Tony in the first murder. Tony had been there. Vinnie had rented the room. At the very least, Vinnie must have suspected what went on, even if he wasn’t there. Which he wasn’t, necessarily. If he could rent the room for Tony to have trysts with his girlfriend, he could rent the room for Tony to rub someone out. Though he didn’t need to know he was renting it for that purpose.

  If that was true, he might have been less than happy when he found out. Particularly when he realized his name was on the credit card receipt, and if the cops got pointed in the right direction, he’d be the one to take the fall. Vinnie might have protested being placed in that position.

  Tony might have countered the complaint with a gun.

  That seemed a lot better than the jealously angle.

  If that was true, it meant Tony Gallo killed Vinnie Carbone and then gave the gun to Jersey Girl. Perhaps in the hope of killing two birds with one stone, if the girl had become a liability by making trouble for him with his wife.

  Never mind that.

  The point was, if Tony killed Vinnie to cover up the murder of the Aflac salesman, why did he have to do that? I’d been arrested and charged with the murder. No one suspected anyone else. Granted, I was out on bail, but that didn’t mean the cops didn’t think I did it.

  So what set Tony off?

  45

  “WHAT IF IT’S CAUSE AND EFFECT?”

  MacAullif scowled. “Forget it.”

  I looked hurt. “Hey.”

  “Don’t play innocent with me. That’s one of your enigmatic opening statements designed to make me super-curious to know what you’re getting at. I don’t care what you’re getting at. I got no patience with this one. You wanna talk, talk, otherwise get out of my office before I hit you with a chair.”

  “I’m going nuts trying to find a motive for Tony Gallo killing Vinnie Carbone, and I got too many. Tony was sweet on his girlfriend. Vinnie may have been sweet on Tony’s wife.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t think he was, that’s just a theory his girlfriend offered up, trying to find something that didn’t implicate Tony or her. The other theory, and the one that makes more sense, is that he got rubbed out in conjunction with the hit on the Aflac salesman. Only problem with that is it happens way after the fact, and he’s peripheral as all hell. Unless it’s cause and effect—and don’t throw the chair, I’ll tell you what I mean. Aflac salesman gets whacked, I get arrested, Richard gets me out. Since I didn’t kill him and no one went into that room, we come up with the connecting door theory. You run a bluff on the motel manager, come up with the name Vinnie Carbone. Vinnie Carbone is promptly whacked.”

  “You’re saying the motel manager is mixed up in this?”

  “Why not? The meetings were always at his motel.”

  “Meetings?”

  “Vinnie Carbone kept renting the room. Long after he needed to share it with Jersey Girl.”

  “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. What are you talking about?”

  “Two years ago Vinnie Carbone stayed in the same room. Jersey Girl stayed next door. Where the guy got whacked.”

  “And just how do you know that?”

  “My wife may have peeked at their computer.”

  MacAullif rolled his eyes. “Unbelievable. May have peeked at their computer. Do you have any idea how many violations of the penal code are contained in that one simple sentence?”

  “Alice is a big girl. She can stay anywhere she wants.”

  “I thought we agreed you weren’t going near the motel manager.”

  “He wasn’t there.”

  “My god, do I have to close every loophole?”

  “Water under the bridge, MacAullif. The point is, here’s what we’ve got.”

  I gave MacAullif a rundown of the motel situation.

  “Interesting,” he said.

  “Yeah. Jersey Girl tells an unconvincing story about staying there because Vinnie had a girlfriend, staying in two rooms because she didn’t know him that well, and then one because she did. She categorically denies staying there with Tony Gallo. She can’t imagine why Vinnie would have rented the room if it weren’t for business.”

  “Oh, so this is her theory?”

  “That doesn’t make it wrong. Despite the fact that most of what she says is suspect. She’s banging Tony Gallo. Tony Gallo’s wife, incidentally, has a terrific temper and might be inclined to kill someone.”

  “Vinnie Carbone?”

  “I have some theories there.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “One, she’s pissed off at him for arranging the rendezvous between his girlfriend and her husband.”

  “Thin. If she was going to kill someone, she’d kill her.”

  “Sure, but Tony’d know she did it, even if the cops didn’t. On the other hand, if she can kill Vinnie and make it look like his girlfriend did it, she’s killed two birds with one stone.”

  “And how does she do that?”

  “Plants the gun on her. Which I’m sure any New York cop worth his salt would have found, but their New Jersey counterparts don’t.”

  “You said that, not me.”

  “Anyway, that’s how I see it. The motel manager’s in league with Tony Gallo. Which is why his motel is used for high-level meetings of the mob.”

  As if he could read my mind, MacAullif stuck a finger in my face. “You stay away from the motel manager.”

  “I won’t go near him. But it would be easy enough to see if he has a record.”

  MacAullif threw up his hands. “Finally we come to it. You can’t just talk things out. You’ve always got an ulterior motive.”

  “I don’t think it’s ulterior, MacAullif. I think it’s rather central.”

  MacAullif snatched up a vial from his desk, popped a pill in his mouth, swallowed it down.

  “What’s that?”

  “Blood pressure medicine.”

  MacAullif must have been really trying. As I went out the door it occurred to me the whole time
I was in his office he hadn’t cursed once.

  46

  THE MOTEL MANAGER WAS WHITE as a sheet. “You stay away from me.”

  I put up my hand. “Hey, not to worry. You got nothing to fear from me. So you identified me. It was your civic duty, you had to do it. But don’t worry, I’m not a threat.” I paused, added, “Physically.”

  He blinked. “Huh?”

  “If you were involved in the hit, you’ve got a lot to fear. Not from me, from the cops. Well, from me indirectly, because I’ll turn you in to the cops. Right now I know more than they do. That’s because they’re sold on the idea I did it. I happen to know I didn’t, which gives me a big edge. What’s more, I happen to know the game you’ve been playing with Tony.”

  “Tony?”

  “Don’t play dumb. You know who I mean. Anyway, I’m putting the squeeze on your operation here. Not as payback for the murder rap—hell, those things happen. No, I’m doing it because it’s my civic duty. Just like you ID’ing me. But it’s not payback. Not at all.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you don’t. You just manage a motel. You got nothing to do with the mob.”

  “You’re crazy. You get the hell out of here.”

  “I’m going. You just think about what I said.”

  That was my litmus test. I figured if he was connected with the mob, I’d hear from Tony Gallo. If he wasn’t, the cops would pick me up.

  The cops picked me up.

  47

  IT WAS MY OLD FRIENDS, Bad Cop and Gotsagoo, or as I now knew, Sergeant Fuller and Morgan. You’d think they’d get tired of seeing me, but, oh no, every time I turn around, there they are again.

  This time they nabbed me on the approach to the George Washington Bridge, cleared a lane with their sirens to let me get off. They hauled me out of my car, stuck me in the back of theirs.

  “What is it this time?” I said.

  Bad Cop had not mellowed toward me. “Guess.”

  “I haven’t got a clue. I sure hope someone isn’t dead.”

  Fuller’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think someone’s dead?”

  “I don’t think someone’s dead. I have no reason to think someone’s dead. Except every time you pick me up, someone is. If that happens to be the case, do let me in on it, because I’d like to know who I’m charged with killing this time.”

  “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”

  “No, I don’t. And my wife can back me up on that. Is someone dead?”

  “No one’s dead. It appears you’ve been impersonating an officer again.”

  “Who says so?”

  “Angela Russo.”

  “Who?”

  “Vinnie Carbone’s girlfriend.”

  “Oh, Jersey Girl. That’s absolutely false.”

  “You deny you’ve been harassing her?”

  “Her ass. Nice play on words. Did you mean that?”

  “Do you deny you called on her again?”

  “Called on her? Is that a crime? I thought you said impersonating an officer.”

  “Well, that’s what you’re charged with.”

  “Old news. I’ve already been arraigned. Or do you have something else?”

  “You know what I mean. You’ve done it again.”

  “Done what again?”

  “Impersonated an officer.”

  “I beg to differ. I’ve never impersonated an officer. And I’ve certainly never done it again.”

  “When’s the last time you talked to Angela Russo?”

  “Gee. I’d have to consult my social calendar.”

  “Don’t be an asshole. You want to be arrested again?”

  “You mean I’m not?”

  “We’re just talking here. If it’s a friendly talk, maybe you go on your way.”

  “That’s nice. How’d you find me?”

  “Huh?”

  “You dragged me off the George Washington Bridge. How’d you know I was there?”

  “We bugged your car.”

  My mouth fell open.

  Bad Cop grinned. “Gotcha. Boy, that one always gets ’em.”

  “You didn’t bug my car?”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s too much trouble getting the warrant.”

  “I don’t think he appreciates your sense of humor,” Morgan said.

  “So how’d you know?”

  Fuller ignored that question, said, “You find that gun?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t comment on the subject of a court subpoena.”

  “Of course not.”

  “And you guys know that. So why’d you pick me up?”

  No one answered.

  I looked at them, considered. “You had no reason to pick me up. And you have no right to hold me. Unless you bring me in and charge me with something.”

  Bad Cop shrugged. “We could do that.”

  “Go ahead.”

  They didn’t. We stood there staring at each other, and nothing happened.

  It was wonderful. I called their bluff and beat ’em. I nearly swaggered as I got out and walked back to my car. No one stopped me. I backed up and drove off.

  I was feeling pretty good until I realized I was still on the hook for murder.

  48

  I WAS RUNNING OUT OF options. I had tweaked the motel manager and it hadn’t led to Tony Gallo. That didn’t mean Tony Gallo was innocent, merely that the motel manager probably was. Not surprisingly, all my efforts had come to naught.

  “You’re doing fine,” Alice said.

  “Fine? I’m charged with murder.”

  “Aside from that.”

  “Are you trying to be funny?”

  “No. But it’s an absurd charge, and it’s gonna go away. Meanwhile, you’re making progress. You poked the motel manager and Tony Gallo didn’t react.”

  “The cops did. That means he called them.”

  “Of course he did. You’re a murder suspect he ID’d, and you’re hassling him. Any rational person would call the cops.”

  “That means he’s innocent.”

  “So?” Alice said.

  “It would be easier if he was guilty.”

  “It would be easier if the killer confessed, said he was a bad boy, and promised not to do it again. Stanley, this is a good thing. Every time you eliminate one person from your list of suspects you wind up with a shorter list. You tweak the motel manager and he goes to the cops. You tweak the Jersey Shore bimbo and she doesn’t go to the cops.”

  “She took her clothes off.”

  “Exactly. It’s her first line of defense. With the motel manager it’s the cops. With her it’s her body. That makes you suspicious. Among other things.”

  “What other things?”

  “Voyeuristic. Tumescent.”

  “You’re enjoying this too much, Alice.”

  “I’m not enjoying this too much. It’s a real conversation killer in almost any social situation. ‘How’s your husband doing?’ ‘He’s being tried for murder.’ You’d be surprised at how few people have a follow-up question.”

  “Alice. Do you suppose you could direct your razor-sharp wit toward getting me out of this predicament?”

  “How could I do that? I don’t have all the information. There are a number of questions here, and you don’t have the answers. Until you do, it’s hard to know what happened.”

  Questions? Oh, dear. Was the Socratic method rearing its ugly head?

  I took a breath. “All right, Alice. What questions would you like answered?”

  Alice considered. “Why did the widow hire you?”’

  “Huh?”

  “That’s the first question, isn’t it? That’s how this all started. The woman hired you to follow her husband. Why?”

  “He was cheating on her.”

  “Yeah, but he wasn’t. He went to a motel. He’d didn’t meet a woman, he got shot.”

  “He didn’t know that.”

  “Why not?�
�

  “Because it makes no sense. Would you go to a motel if you knew you were going to get shot?”

  “It probably would not be my first choice of accommodations.”

  “You’re having too much fun, Alice.”

  “I’m not having fun at all. I’m trying to make some sense out of the situation. You’re the one saying things like, ‘Would you go to a motel to get shot?’”

  “Well, that’s what you were implying.”

  “I was doing nothing of the sort. You’re the one who suggested he went to a motel to get shot. That’s absurd. He didn’t go a motel to get shot. He didn’t go to a motel to meet a woman. The truth lies somewhere between the two.”

  “You think he went to the motel to meet Tony Gallo?”

  “Well, Tony Gallo was there, wasn’t he? In the next room. With the connecting door. So he goes to the motel to meet Tony Gallo and Tony Gallo kills him.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. But say he does.”

  “Okay, say he does. What’s your point?”

  “Why did the widow hire you?”

  49

  FOR A WIDOW, SHE LOOKED good. Which figured. She’d also looked good as a wife. Come to think of it, she’d looked good as a widow the last time I’d seen her. Basically, the woman just looked good.

  She was surprised to see me. Which said something. After all, she had a doorman, he’d called upstairs, she knew it was me. And yet, she looked surprised.

  She took me into the living room, sat me on the couch, just as if it were a social occasion. She was wearing a spandex something or other in lime green. I wondered how long her husband had to be dead to forgive the color.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you here?”

  “You hired me.”

  She stared at me. “That employment is over.”

  “Why, yes, it is. But the consequences aren’t, and you’re entitled to a report.”

  “A report?” The widow Marston could not have looked more surprised had I told her I was secretly Spiderman. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No, I took the money, and I ought to give value, no matter how extenuating the circumstances. How much do you know about the second murder?”