Unmarked Man

by Darlene Scalera

  Cissy reviewed her options. Big Bill had the gun, but she had the wheel of an easily recognizable hot red Thunderbird.

  “After you take a left, turn right at the second light, and go about three blocks to Olive Street. You’ll see a brick warehouse with a white truck in front of it. Pull into the drive and park around the back.”

  Cissy breezed by the exit.

  The gun rammed into her side. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Go ahead. Shoot me. I’m doing seventy. If you’re lucky you’ll die on impact.”

  The man chuckled. “You’re a real firecracker, Cissy. Too bad we didn’t meet again under more pleasant circumstances.”

  “You’re a real snake charmer yourself, Big Bill.” She pressed down on the gas pedal.

  “I almost hate the idea of having to kill you.”

  “I’m not fond of the idea myself, but at least I shaved my legs this morning. Go ahead. Kill the driver of a car going seventy, wait, seventy-five, eighty coming at ya, and see who walks away alive.”

  Silence told her she had him thinking. Still crouching low, he pushed his upper body between the seats, reached his arm across her lap.

  “What the hell—”

  The gun that had been at her back was now shoved in her side. Big Bill wedged the other one between her thighs, its snout on her left kneecap. “This leg here isn’t doing much but looking pretty now, is it? One shot to the knee. It won’t even be missed.”

  He moved the gun up her body until the barrel rested on her left elbow. The other gun stayed hard in her side. “Then again, nobody needs two hands to drive, either. I say there’s all kinds of body parts we could eliminate.” He aimed the gun back on her knee. “One by one.” The gun went to her left elbow again. “Here a shot, there a shot.” The gun moved to her knee, back and forth, back and forth. “Everywhere a bang-bang. Which will it be first?” He rested the gun on her leg. “Knee?” He slid the gun up. “Elbow? Lady’s choice.”

  She slowed to seventy, sixty-five. Her cell rang, causing them both to jump. The man swore. Her last stunt hadn’t succeeded, but it had rattled him.

  “My phone is ringing.”

  “Let it ring.” With two guns pressed against her body, he raised his head enough to see out the front window without being seen out the back. “Get off at the next exit and turn around unless you want hamburger where your left kneecap used to be.”

  She knew that look. It was the look Eddie had when he’d come home from a hard night’s drinking. It was the look her first husband had when he broke her jaw. She looked for the next exit.

  Big Bill punched in a number on her cell phone. “Yeah, we’re on our way. Few minutes more. We took a little detour. We’re turning around at the next exit. Yeah, you know, this broad’s a piece of work. I’m ready to kill her just to relieve some stress.” He listened, gave a low laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I know there’s other ways to relieve stress.” His gun circled her knee, slid down her calf, caught the hem of her skirt. The cool point of the gun moved up past her knee, raising the skirt, exposing her thigh. She slapped it away, pulled her skirt down and shot Big Bill a dirty look. Inside she trembled.

  Big Bill snickered. “Yeah, right, okay. I’ll do that and meet you there.”

  Her one advantage gone, Cissy focused again on some way to draw notice to the car. She searched the console for an answer.

  Big Bill hung up. “Okay, give it some gas, sweetheart.”

  She glanced at the gas gauge. It was below Empty. She suppressed a smile and pressed on the gas. “You’re the boss.”

  They drove in silence, guns wedged to Cissy’s body. She checked the gauge several times. She could smell her captor, herself. The ripe smell of terror.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I told you, brick house. Olive Street. White truck.”

  “What’s the white truck for?

  “You.”

  She glanced at the gauge. She had no idea how long the car would go before it ran out of gas. “You guys are making this unnecessarily complicated, you know.”

  “Life is complicated, Cissy.” His gun absently traced up and down her thigh.

  “You don’t have to kidnap me. I know where my sister is. Just force me to take you there.”

  Silence. She had Big Bill thinking.

  “Make you kind of a hero to the big boys, wouldn’t it?”

  “You’d never give Jo Jo up,” Big Bill decided. “Take this exit.”

  Cissy did as he said.

  “Now turn around there and get back on the interstate,” Big Bill instructed.

  “Four people dead, and you get the goods without even a scratch. You’d be a legend.”

  “Keep driving.”

  “Because it seems to me, they have you doing the grunt work right now. Say you and I get pulled over. Who’s going to get hauled downtown or end up a cop killer? Not your buddies. No, they’re probably lying around right now, sucking down a cold one, watching the best of Jerry Springer. Why not, when they’ve got guys like you out in broad daylight, hauling bodies, kidnapping a cop’s girl,” she added just for fun. “Stevie already had his butt hauled in the other night. Four are dead. Who’s next?”

  “You if you don’t shut up.”

  She thought of the sunken-chest beanpole boy getting his butt kicked up and down the block. “Just seems to me like you’re still letting the big guys push you around, that’s all, Billy.”

  “Nobody is pushing me around.”

  “Get the goods, and you won’t be just another babbo.”

  “I ain’t no babbo.”

  “Nah, you’re just the chump on the front line that will go down first. Think they’ll come visit you when you’re doing twenty to life?”

  He wiggled the gun in her ribs. “And I should trust you?”

  “No, you shouldn’t trust me, Billy. You shouldn’t trust your buddies waiting at the van. You should trust yourself. Trust your instincts. That’s what all the great ones go on. Instinct.” She’d been lousy picking stocks, but she could sell the hell out of them. She glanced at the gas gauge.

  “You are a piece of work, Spagnola. I’m actually going to regret it if they do kill you.”

  She glanced at him. He smiled. “Head to Olive Street and step on it. We’ve already wasted enough time.”

  Her foot pressed all the way down on the gas pedal, but the car didn’t pick up speed. It was losing power. She smiled back at Big Bill. The car slowed. She scanned the highway. They’d left the city, had headed to the suburbs. Off the shoulder, the land dipped steeply, then rose again and rolled into a line of trees hiding the interstate from a housing development.

  “I told you to step on it.”

  “I am.”

  He glanced at her foot on the floor, looked at the gauge, uttered a profanity.

  The car slowed quickly. She steered it to the shoulder of the road and let it roll.

  “Ya know what’s funny. It’s not the big things that trip guys like you up. It’s the little things. Stopped for a busted taillight, only to find a body in the trunk. A serial killer pulled over for unpaid tickets and confesses to twelve murders. A car runs out of gas during a kidnapping.”

  The car stopped dead. She stuck it in Park. Her other hand grasped the door handle. It was now or never while Big Bill was still trying to understand how such a minor detail could bring him down. Her elbow came back swiftly, catching him on the bridge of his nose. She heard a delicious crack. She grabbed the car keys, jammed them into his baby blues. The gun at her knee went off, but the blow had angled it upward, shattering the glass. She rolled out of the car, crawled underneath. She’d never reach the trees. She heard Big Bill getting out, cursing her and her future generations. She was counting on him assuming she’d gone over the guardrails. Two feet hit the asphalt, looking very large and mean in heavy black work boots.

  “I know you’re under there, Spagnola. Five cars are coming. As soon as they pass, you’ll be dead, doll. One…two…three�
��four…say a prayer, sweet—”

  A thud. Big Bill hit the pavement, stared at her as surprised as she. He didn’t blink. Neither did she. He didn’t breathe. Neither did she. He was dead. She wasn’t.

  “Cissy?”

  She closed her eyes, letting the sound of her name in Nick’s voice wash over her. She wanted to cry. With joy. With sorrow. She didn’t know. She didn’t care. She’d come too close this time to pretend she didn’t love this man. She turned her head, saw his face. Fat, shameless tears outed her every emotion.

  “Nick?”

  “Yes?” His voice was careful.

  “I really, really hate driving.”

  He didn’t smile. Her tears had scared him. She took his offered hand, eased out from under the car, swiped at her wet, dirty face.

  “Detective Jones and I were on our way to the Lords’ clubhouse when I saw the Thunderbird go by. I knew you were supposed to be meeting Tommy for lunch. I called the restaurant and Tommy said you’d left in a big hurry. When you didn’t answer your cell phone, I suspected something was wrong.”

  She didn’t know when he’d put his arm around her or started leading her gently to the car. All she knew was she was grateful for him. His colleague stood over Big Bill’s body.

  “I’m not going to lose you now, Cissy,” Nick said in a low voice.

  She looked at him, but his gaze was straight ahead, not inviting additional comment. The sun beat down on them both. Tell him, the nagging voice inside her demanded. Tell him you don’t want him to lose you. She looked at his hard profile. Say something.

  She stopped. “Nick.” He turned, looked down at her. She hesitated. The opportunity passed.

  “My mother and sister. I know where they are. They’re alive.”

  “Where?”

  “The Sisters of the Sacred Heart.”

  Nick rubbed one side of his head.

  “Amen,” Cissy said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The building was clapboard and unassuming. A wooden sign nailed near the door read Sisters of the Sacred Heart. A woman with a bare face and short, severe hair answered the door. Only a heavy carved cross on her reined-in bosom signaled she was of the faith. Cissy knew traditional habits were no longer mandatory at many orders today. Still, something about a nun in street clothes never failed to shock her.

  “Sister?” Her voice turned pious. Her early religious indoctrination might not have been successful, but it had had an effect.

  “May I help you?” The woman’s gaze flickered to Nick, back to Cissy with general interest.

  “I’m Cissy Spagnola.” Recognition sparked in the woman’s expression. “This is Detective Nick Fiore. We called. We’re looking for my mother and sister. I pray we’ve come to the right place.”

  The woman smiled the most blessed smile Cissy had ever seen. She vowed right then and there to go to church every Sunday and to give up white sugar and wine during Lent and give more to the homeless. She was still seeking ways to repay God as the sister stepped back from the door. “Please come in.” She led them down a long hall to the back of the house. Along the way they passed several nuns, some in street clothes like their hostess, others in blue habits.

  “Your sister and mother are waiting for you in the prayer garden. It is secluded, designed for the sisters to worship in private. No one can see from the outside. It is safe. Your mother is a good, generous woman.” She looked at Cissy, her expression grave. “We have tried to help your sister. We have not yet been successful.”

  Cissy’s heart sank. What had she expected? A miracle. People don’t change that much, Spagnola.

  “She had no drugs when she came here. But she has since found sources.”

  “How?” Cissy asked.

  “Your sister is very resourceful when circumstance demands it. We have made it clear she is welcome to stay, but she must be willing to work through her problems. We can offer her counseling, sanctuary, but the choice must be hers. It is now, as always, in God’s hands.”

  They walked down a trail intersecting well-tended gardens until they came to a group of close-standing pines. “Behind the pines you will find the garden’s entrance. Your mother and sister wait for you there.” She turned to Cissy. “God bless you both.” She moved toward the house. Cissy and Nick started toward the pines.

  She saw Jo Jo first, too thin, frail, beaten by much more than bad men and bad money. Her mother rose. Cissy went to her arms first, but when the time came for her to embrace her sister, she held on to her tighter, longer, as if afraid Jo Jo would slide out of her arms and slip away. Afraid she already had.

  “We didn’t mean to involve you, Cissy.” Her mother sat down as if tired. Cissy saw the ivory rosary wrapped in her hands, the tiny beads her mother’s hands worried. “We called, tried to tell you to stay away, but we couldn’t reach you. Then we were afraid if we contacted you, and they found out, they’d try and get it out of you. Jo Jo made it clear to Eddie that if anything happened to you, the deal was off, but who knew with these animals?”

  Cissy sat beside her mother. “I’m fine, Mama. Relatively.” She smiled, squeezed her mother’s rosary-laced hands.

  “If you had called once in a while and given me your new phone number all this could have been avoided.”

  Cissy glanced at Jo Jo, and in the silent language between two sisters conveyed, Can you believe her?

  Jo Jo rolled her eyes. “Try being cooped up with her and a bunch of nuns for three days.”

  “Don’t get me started on you, missy,” her mother warned.

  Cissy’s smile widened involuntarily. She patted her mother’s hands. “It’s good to be home, Mama.” She meant it.

  Her mother’s features softened. “It’s good to see you, Cissy.”

  “How did you find us anyway?” Jo Jo asked.

  Cissy explained how Pauline had mentioned the nuns coming to the bar, the news item on a nun in Colorado passing counterfeit cash.

  Her mother sighed. “I didn’t even know it was counterfeit until Jo Jo told me the other day. All I knew was over the years Eddie always had his secret stash but now I find too much money. No good comes from too much money. I don’t want no harm to come to him. He was a bastard, yes, but he was my husband. I married him. So, I figure I make a deal with God. I send the money to the sisters so they can take something bad and do something good with it. Some run shelters, offer protection to abused women. The money will do good. Except now I find out it’s counterfeit.” Her fingers worked the rosary beads. “I’ll never be able to show my face in St. James again.”

  “C’mon, Ma.” Cissy patted her mother’s shoulder. “God’s got to have a sense of humor.”

  Jo Jo looked at Nick. “You guys find out who killed Jacques yet?”

  Nick had stayed back, letting the women have their reunion. He stepped forward. “Thought you might be able to help us with that, Jo Jo.”

  She shook her head.

  “More have died.”

  Cissy took her mother’s hands in hers again, rosary beads and all, and held tight. “Mama, you know Eddie’s dead.”

  She saw her mother’s features crumble, then realign into a strong mask. “I read it in the paper,” her mother said flatly. She looked ahead. There were no tears. Her mother had learned long ago her tears could be a sign of victory to another. She would not give her abuser the satisfaction. Then or now.

  “You didn’t make any arrangements yet, did you?” she asked.

  Cissy shook her head.

  “Good, because I want a full mass. And I want to use McGreary on Orchard. Since Nero’s son-in-law took over the business he jacked prices up fifty percent.”

  “The same type of weapon that killed Eddie shot Saint-Sault and Lester, too.” Nick brought the subject back to the murders. “The bartender at the Golden Cue, too.” Nick stepped closer, a cop now. “You knew Otto Chandler, didn’t you, Jo Jo?”

  “What of it?”

  “You knew them all. Who do you think killed t
hem?”

  Jo Jo’s hands held no rosary. They merely twisted. “I told ya I don’t know. I’d come from meeting Phil. The Golden Cue. He liked to meet there. He had a thing about games. Loved to play them. He stunk at pool, though. I was trying to teach him.” She lapsed into silence. “I liked Phil. A real gentleman.”

  “But you were using him, weren’t you?” Nick said.

  Jo Jo’s face lost its faraway look, turned tough. “The Lords wanted information.”

  “And you needed drugs.”

  Jo Jo’s gaze stayed even with Nick’s. “Eddie had driven the Thunderbird into work that day and needed an order picked up, so he gave me the car keys.”

  Louisa uttered something in Italian.

  “It was early when I left the Golden Cue, so I stashed Eddie’s cash under the seat—”

  “I found some stuffed in the seat cushions, too,” Cissy said.

  “Maybe sometimes you hid a little there—” Nick looked at Jo Jo “—just in case Eddie thought you were skimming again and had Manny frisk you.”

  “Like I said, it was early.” Jo Jo kept her gaze even with Nick’s, ignoring his remark. “So I took a ride over to see Jacques. Somebody at the top must have gotten word that Jacques had been dealing with the Lords, because when I got there, he was dead on the kitchen floor. I heard some noises in the other room. I took off. I don’t know if whoever was there saw me or not, but they must have seen Cherry. I drove out to Mama’s house, told her what had happened. If the killer only saw the car and mistook Mama for me…we had to get out of there.”

  “So you came here?” Nick said.

  “It was Mama’s idea. The nuns sent a van, picked us up. And here we are.”