My work phone was ringing off the hook, but I didn’t answer. Most of the calls were probably from my regular sources at the courthouse warning me about his release. The others were likely from reporters at other places, wanting to know my reaction to the news. I didn’t have time for any of that.
I unplugged my phone and found a quiet hallway on our floor. Hands slightly shaking, I dialed the last number in my call history.
“You have reached the voice mailbox of 21—” the cheery robotic voice said.
I hung up and dialed him again. No response. With no one in sight, I slid down the wall and rested on the ground for a while. I needed to form a plan. Tilucci would be a free man soon, and I needed to get to him before he got to me. My head was starting to spin and I couldn’t decide if it was from panic or excitement. Maybe it was a combination of the two.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when my phone started vibrating. It was Bryce.
“Bryce,” I gasped, “did you hear?”
“Yeah, I just heard,” he said. He sounded resigned. I was hoping he’d be as excited as I was.
“Can we meet up?” I asked. “Soon?”
He made a noncommittal grunt.
“Bryce,” I said sharply. “If we’re going to talk, we need to meet up soon. There’s not much time to waste.”
“Where should we go?” he asked softly.
“Do you know where The Silver Spoon is? It’s a café on 43rd Street. It’s spacious enough that no one will overhear us, and far enough away from your neighborhood so that the wrong person won’t see us together.”
“I get off work at three,” he whispered.
“I suppose that will do,” I said. “I’ll see you there. Start thinking about any helpful information you might have.”
Now I just needed a way to keep myself occupied for three more hours until I could see Bryce again. I wondered if he had been thinking about me as much as I had been thinking about him. Probably not. It had been less than a day since I tried to seduce him. He probably wasn’t too keen to see the psychotic journalist from the pretentious national news station.
I wished he would be able to sit down for an on-air interview. The viewers would be interested in what he had to say but captivated by the way he looked. When most people think of the mob, they picture scowling, paunchy men from gangster movies. Bryce looked like a rugby player: muscular, and a little rough on the edges, but handsome.
Once I felt calm, I got up from the floor and went back to my desk. I caught Pat’s concerned eye from his office and I gave him a thumb's up. He didn’t look relieved.
I pulled out a small notebook and wrote down every known accomplice and victim that I had ever heard of. Then, I compiled a short list of questions that were never answered in my original investigation. I knew that the IRS found serious issues with Tilucci’s taxes in the past five years, but the police hadn’t managed to pin anything else on them.
If, as I suspected, the police were on his payroll, we would need some concrete evidence to show to the public to force an arrest. If the public opinion was strong enough, we could start a witch hunt. If the police were caught being incompetent, the chief would have some serious motivation to arrest. A major arrest could spur another internal investigation, and the dirty cops would be removed.
After a while, I just started to fantasize about my next story. Maybe I’d even have enough to do some sort of documentary. I had my voice recorder that I carried everywhere, maybe I’d have to ask production if they had a small camera I could use.
No, I was getting ahead of myself. I dropped my recorder and notepad into my bag and pushed my chair up to the desk. I would be early, but I couldn’t stand to sit around for another minute.
“I’m going to go talk to Bryce,” I told Pat on my way out the door.
“Be good,” he called after me.
“Always.”
When I got to the coffee shop, there were only a few other customers there. I noticed a few college students typing on their laptops and a couple elderly men arguing about the virtues of spring traps versus sticky traps for pests. I ordered a flat white and chose a booth in the back corner.
Every time I heard the door open, my head whipped around toward the entrance, but it was always just another soccer mom on her way to school to pick up the kids, or a hipster in a baggy sweater and beanie. I checked my watch. He said he would be at the coffee shop ten minutes ago.
Without Bryce’s information, I had no other leads. I would have to find new sources and by that time, Tilucci and his cronies would be on my case. I was desperate to see him.
Just as I was about to call him, he rushed in. I raised my hand above the booth to discretely get his attention. He nodded at me and went to the counter to order.
My heart started beating faster. I had drunk four cups of coffee already that day. I set my drink down and gathered my notes.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, scooting into the seat across from me. He set his small black coffee and bagel on the table.
“That’s fine,” I said. “I’m really glad to see you.”
Half of his mouth curled up into a grin. I melted when he green eyes looked into mine.
“What made you decide to meet me? You seemed pretty hesitant last night.”
“Well, you would be uneasy too if someone rubbed up on you in a dark alley and put a gun to your head.”
“Sorry about that,” I said sheepishly. “I wouldn’t do that kind of thing under normal circumstances. You can see that things have gotten pretty serious.”
“No harm done. I thought about things, and I think it’s time that Tilucci got the punishment he deserves. I’ve been away from the Tilucci family’s hangouts for a while now, but I tried to jog my memory as much as possible.”
“I compiled a list of people I know to be involved with Tilucci. Should we start there?”
“Sure. I’m sure you know more about this organization than I do.”
I gave him the list of names, one at a time and he rattled off everything he knew about them. For the most part, I did know just about as much as he did. I asked him my other questions, and he didn’t have a lot of answers for them either.
After about an hour of talking, without getting very far, I searched through my notes for something I might have missed.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve been very helpful.”
“Oh, no,” I said absentmindedly. “You’re a tremendous help.”
He twiddled his thumbs as I frantically searched for something, anything he could tell me about.
“Wait,” I whispered. “Who is Milton Wheeler? I have his name in my notes, but I’ve never heard of him.”
“Milton Wheeler?” he repeated. “I know Milton.”
“Was he part of the mob?”
“He was the family’s accountant—an old friend of Tommy’s father.”
“He was the accountant?” I asked. “What happened to him?”
“He upset Tommy somehow. I think he tried to tell Tommy that he couldn’t keep track of his expenses and income. Thomas Sr. was a much more sensible man. When Tommy took over, he was too power hungry and lacked common sense. Milton told Tommy that he was bringing in too much money from shady business and said that he wouldn’t work for him under those conditions.”
“So, he quit?”
“Well,” Bryce continued. “Tommy tried to convince him to stay. By convince, I mean terrorize. Unfortunately, I had a small hand in that.”
“What did you do?” I hissed.
“Tommy sent some guys to kill him and bury him in the woods. When it got down to it, I couldn’t kill the guy. I took his finger as proof and let him run free.”
“You chopped the man’s finger off?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
“When the only other option was to kill him, it’s a lot more merciful than it sounds.”
I was getting a bad feeling from Bryce. It was the same casual attitude toward violence that I saw in Ma
x. I didn’t know if I could trust him, and I didn’t want to get myself into more trouble than I could handle.
“He’s got a lot of connections, though, if you want me to talk to him. I don’t know if he’ll talk to you, but he’ll talk if I’m there.”
“Can’t I come with you?” I asked. “It’s not going to do me a whole lot of good as a journalist if I’m just going to be getting secondhand information. I can’t really use that.”
He scratched his head. “What if he tells someone he saw you? Aren’t you scared?”
I scoffed. The whole idea was preposterous. If I didn’t go with him, how would I know that he was really asking Milton for information? For all I knew, he would be turning me over to Tilucci’s henchmen. I needed to be there to protect my story and my own ass.
“I’m not going to skip out on interviewing a good source out of fear,” I said. “When can we go?”
He looked at his watch. “I suppose we could go now. Do you have anywhere you need to be?”
“Not at all. Let’s go.”
Owe Me
Bryce
“You better just ride with me,” I said as Jane walked to her car. “It doesn’t look good to pull up in two cars. We’re trying to be as discreet as possible, remember?”
She hesitantly locked her door and followed me to my car. I quickly scooped up the mess of papers, garbage, and miscellaneous crap from the passenger seat and tossed it in the back.
“So, where are we going?” she asked.
“Milton Wheeler lives on the other side of town, but we better hurry if we want to beat traffic.”
“Is there anything I need to know about Milton before we get to his home?” she asked, pulling out her notebook.
“Not really,” I said, pulling out onto the street. “He’s the one with the good information. He’s pretty old, so he’s been with the organization since the early days.”
“Did you ever meet Thomas Tilucci?” she asked. “This question is purely out of curiosity.”
“No, I never met the guy. By the time I joined, he was already sick. I wonder if he would have regained control of the whole operation if he had lived long enough to see Tommy go to prison. I suppose it was a good thing that he died before the trial began, for his sake.”
“That must have been rough on him. I can’t imagine seeing your son completely derail the business you spent your whole life building.”
“If Thomas could have continued with his illegitimate ventures, I’m sure he would have. I think he had just had enough by the time his health was declining. The worst part was that guys like Milton were screwed over by Tommy when they tried to tell him how things were usually done.”
“Is Milton a hothead like Tommy? Is that why they clashed?”
“Not at all,” I answered. “Milton’s a pretty gentle guy. Maybe that’s just because he’s rather old now. Being part of the gang doesn’t necessarily mean you’re a terrible person. In Milt’s case, you just sort of follow your friends to help them out, and you just get caught up in the business. For most of these guys, it’s just business. You have to watch out for the ones to take it personally.”
She nodded and scribbled down a few words.
“I know you said that you protected your sources, but how far does that extend? I’d like to see Tilucci back in prison and I don’t want to be in the cell with him.”
I didn’t know if I could trust Jane. She was a reporter and my wellbeing didn’t really mean anything to her. I could go down for the things that I did in the gang, and she would still have an award-winning story. Why should she care about someone she didn’t even know?
That didn’t mean I would sell her out if things looked rough. I wasn’t sure if she was digging into this mess for the right reasons, but if she succeeded to expose Tilucci’s heinous crimes, then the result would do a lot of good. That, and I had seen too many innocent people get hurt in my lifetime. I didn’t want Jane to be another one of them.
“I’m not going to sell you out if that’s what you’re asking,” she said. “I already know that you’ve committed some crimes. You haven’t hidden that from me. I have no interest in taking you down with Tilucci. You will always remain an unnamed source.”
“What if you get caught by Tilucci?” I asked. “What then?”
“Look, I’m not going to give you up to anyone. Do you think I’m afraid of threats? Torture? I’m not some delicate flower,” she said, sounded offended.
“I never said you were,” I replied, feeling exasperated. “You understand why I need to hear you say this, right?”
“I get it. As much as you probably don’t like it, we could really use each other. I need your connections to the mob, and you need my connections to the public sphere. We can’t make our problems go away on our own.”
“This is it,” I said, relieved that we were at Milton’s house. I didn’t want to be there either, but it was better than making awkward chit-chat with a woman I didn’t know very well.
She grabbed her purse full of notebooks and pens and marched toward the front door with all the confidence in the world. Dressed in tight, dark jeans, and a blazer layered over her blouse, she looked like she was ready to kick ass.
“You better let me do the talking at first,” I said when I caught up with her. “Our type isn’t generally fond of the media.”
I knocked on the wooden door four times. As I waited for Milton to come to the door, I surveyed the scene. Milton was one of the lucky ones. He managed to survive the mob; live to retire to a modest cottage in a quiet residential area. He had a tiny yard that was kept nice and tidy.
After a couple minutes, I knocked again. I saw the curtains sway back to their resting spot. He had seen me.
“Milton,” I called through the door. “You owe me.”
He reluctantly opened the door a crack. Milton Wheeler was a small man with fluffy white hair on his head. If I had to guess, I’d say he was well into his seventies. Under his sweet grandfather exterior was a tough guy with ample street smarts. He had lived through it all.
“What do you want, Baron?” he said, his voice shaky.
“I just want to talk,” I answered. “There are some things I want to know.”
“Who’s the girl?” he asked, pointing a gnarled finger at Jane. His hand was missing a pinky finger. The sound the knife made as it crunched through bone still makes me shudder.
“My name is Jane Madison,” she said, extending her hand for the handshake that Milton didn’t return. “I’m a reporter at— “
“Nope,” he said, as he pushed the door close. I caught it before it latched.
“She’s all right, Milton,” I called through the crack. “She always protects her sources.”
“That’s what they always say.”
“I trust her,” I said, not sure if I was completely telling the truth. “Anyway, it’s about time I called in my favor and got some use out of you.”
I could see one watery blue eye blink a few times before he took the chain off and invited us inside.
He waved us in and we sat down on his antique floral sofa. He plopped down in the recliner opposite from us.
“Mr. Wheeler, I want to ask you some questions about the Tilucci family and their business,” Jane said in her perfect professional tone. “I’m working on a story that will expose his crimes, and with any luck, put him back in prison.”
“Ah, yes,” he said. “I heard the news. It’s a shame.”
“Bryce told me that you are no longer a member of the mob, but that you could help us.”
“Bryce said that? He knows that I’ve gotten soft in my old age. Should I tell her about our relationship?”
I shrugged. “I told her about your finger if that’s what you’re getting at.
“Mr. Wheeler, I understand that you have a long history with the Tilucci family. Could you tell me about it?” Jane interjected.
“As much as he tried, Tommy Jr. was never as influential as his father. He was bo
rn when we were already at the height of our business. Tom brought in the money and I made sure the numbers added up.”
“Did you ever use creative accounting methods to cover up illegal income?” Jane asked.
Milton shot me a look.
“I think we’re way beyond those types of questions, Jane,” I said. “I think it’s just safe to assume that everything you know about this business is true. We’re not going to make Milt confess to anything we already know.”
“I understand. So, what happened after Thomas Tilucci handed the family business over to his son?”
“It wasn’t pretty. Everyone gave him the benefit of the doubt for Tom’s sake. He lost a lot of men over the years. People respected Tom because he was tough but fair. He kept a cool head and was always willing to listen to other people’s concerns. That’s what made things run so smoothly.”
“Everything was civil,” she noted.
“For the most part, yes. That’s how we kept away from the law. We stayed quiet and didn’t draw a lot of attention to ourselves. If someone needed to be taught a lesson, it was done discreetly.”
“As opposed to now?”
“Tommy’s a violent guy with a flair for the dramatic. Instead of quietly dropping someone into the ocean, he’s more likely to blast them into the sky on a rocket. He was making a lot of the older guys nervous. We had a long history that we didn’t want to have uncovered by the police. Guys like me are too old to spend the rest of our lives in prison for money laundering we did decades ago. I wanted out.”
“And Tommy didn’t like that?”
“I was the only one who knew how to cook the books. The younger generations never learned nothing about the business. I told Tommy that I wanted to retire. I even gave him a month’s notice to find someone new. He got very upset with me.”
“What did he do?”
“In the middle of the night, he sent these yahoos to my house.” He jabbed a finger toward me. “He told them to kill me, but to make sure that I suffered.”
Jane raised her eyebrows.
“Your friend over here knew who I was and knew that I didn’t mean no harm. He convinced the other guys to take my finger for proof, but to let me live. I packed my bags and moved out that next morning.”
Her Protection: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Omerta Series Book 2) Page 4