by Ronnie Allen
“No. I won’t. Let’s go, Nick.”
“You want to go to the club now, don’t you?”
“Yes. Come on.”
“You forgot to ask a crucial question, rookie.”
“Oh.” She grimaced. “Who owns the club?”
“Carlo Philetano.”
Frank stopped dead. “The Philetano? The Staten Island Mob family?”
Withers shot him a snide grin, while Frank’s mind floated to Jen. If this was a Mob hit, they wouldn’t need him, and he could focus on Jen’s case. He said a silent prayer.
After they left, Frank played the two recordings, taking over an hour to go through them. He realized she had a lot of knowledge. But did she have the ability to process her knowledge into forming theories, and applying them into practical uses for them? A lot remained to be seen, with this princess.
CHAPTER 8
Nick split his vision between the driveway and the investigators on the scene, and maneuvered his SUV into a spot outside the perimeter of the cordoned-off area, as directed by a patrol officer. They had marked off three hundred feet around Larcon’s sports car, not nearly one third of the strip club’s lot. The lot stood at the back of the renovated warehouse, overlooking a pier. They had completed their set up--tables and laptops were in place, cameras were on tripods, they had pulled down fire escapes, the photographing was completed, cone markings were in place, debris had been picked up and packed, and now they were working on the car itself.
Sam had left the driving to him and kept her gaze on the team. Nick assumed she was soaking it all in, again.
The three-story brick building had been servicing New York City execs who’d craved escapes into paradise for ten years. The owner, Carlo Philetano, paced around the perimeter of the lot while on his cell, yelling at a person on the other end of the line. He disconnected when he saw Nick’s SUV pull into the spot.
The chill in the late-fall dusk air was warmer than the reception he gave Nick. Carlo’s gaze darted to each side entrance of the gated lot, before he focused on him. “Hey, Detective. When are they getting this ride outta here? They won’t tell me anything. They won’t give me the time of day.”
“They’re not supposed to. We need to talk to you. Calm down, Carlo. Why so edgy?”
“Yeah. Sure, Valatutti. My pop’s carrying on like a lunatic. Yelling that this could look like it came from us. Edgy? That doesn’t explain it, pal. He’s not gettin’ any younger, ya know? We gotta treat him with kid gloves.”
Sam exited the car and, immediately, Nick noticed a change in Carlo’s attitude.
“Hello, Mr. Philetano. I’m Detective Samantha Wright. You obviously know my partner.” She walked toward him with a smile as bright as the summer sun as she spoke. “First, I want to thank you for calling this in. It’s much appreciated.”
Carlo grinned from ear to ear. Nick could have sworn he saw sparkles in his eyes and a bulge by his zipper.
“Yeah. Sure. I’m talking to her, Valatutti. You can take a hike.” He winked at Sam.
Nick laughed. Whatever it takes. “You can talk to her, Carlo, but I’m staying right here.”
Carlo changed his tough guy intonation to warm and mellow. “Suit yourself. Now, Detective Wright, what do you need to know?” Carlo’s gaze traveled down her body and landed tight on her breasts. He put his arm around her shoulder to walk her over to an area hidden to any passersby. She gently removed his arm, but continued to walk with him. He grimaced at the stale urine odors that assaulted his nose. “Damn these guys. We have gorgeous bathrooms and they choose to piss here. Ah, maybe it’s bums who can’t afford to get in. Caught a few of them. Okay, Detective, back to your questions.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Philetano. Do you know who owns this car?”
“Yes, and you know I do. I told the 911 op. Steven Larcon.”
“Great. We didn’t get their tape yet.” Sam looked at Nick.
He had sensed the same thing. Withers didn’t tell them everything.
“Do you know Mr. Larcon personally?” she continued.
“As far as being a customer, yeah. My wife wears his gowns. And the bastard doesn’t even give her a discount. I stopped giving him drinks on the house, too, after the last time. She spent five thou on two...maxis? I think that’s what you dames call them. Yeah, maxi dresses.”
“Yes. That’s what we call them.” She reciprocated with a warm smile. “What time did he come in last night?”
He unbuttoned his jacket. “About one.”
“Was he with anyone?”
“Yeah, his son, Adam. Always with his son. Maybe he’s teaching him about women.” He laughed. “But I have a feeling this kid already knows a lot.”
“How so?”
“He’s a good-looking kid. Tall, blond, dark blue eyes. He and his twin, those eyes. If I was describing a woman, I’d call them exotic. Well built. Into the gym, a lot. He models for a men’s line. I’m sure the women are already lined up.”
Sam smiled. “Did they come in together?”
“They walked in together. But the kid left earlier. I think Dad’s supporting him or something. He always gives him a big wad of cash. It’s almost as if this place is their meet. I don’t mind. If it were two strangers exchanging dough, they’d be bounced outta here. My guys follow my rules.”
Nick’s mind wrapped around what Mrs. Larcon told him and Frank. Totally different perspective. That was major.
Sam nodded. “How often do they come in?”
“Every Wednesday and Friday, one a.m., like clockwork.”
“Have any idea what time they left?”
“Didn’t watch them. But I close at six. I went out to check the lot. Had to see what mess my cleaning crew would have to deal with. Liquor bottles, condoms, these odors to disinfect, the usual crap. And I spotted his car. At first, I thought he may have gone with his son. Drives a Jag. Then I saw a shoe by the door. I went over and saw the mess.”
“What mess?
“The door was open slightly, and his clothing was inside, bloodied. Whoever did this, Detective, is a sicko.”
Nick wanted to get it straight. “What are you saying, Carlo?”
“You know what I mean, Detective. This was no Mob hit. They would have taken him in his clothes, or left him there. In plain sight. Body in bloodied clothing sends a stronger message. A hell of a lot more threatening.”
Sam nodded, again. “Thank you, Mr. Philetano. I couldn’t help notice your suit. Nice. I love the linen fabric. The blue herringbone looks like a Jaye Manning shade.”
Nick suddenly became self-conscious and put his hand into the pocket of his suit, even though he thought he looked great in it, and his wife loved it. A thousand bucks on a suit, he couldn’t spend. Three hundred was more than enough and that put a dent in their monthly budget. Good thing his wife was an elementary school principal. If it were only his income, they couldn’t do even that.
Carlo shot Nick a grin. “You know designers of men’s wear?” he asked Sam.
“Yes. We were talking in the office. Manning’s an associate of Mr. Larcon’s. You obviously cater to a higher echelon clientele here, so I thought I’d mention it.”
“Yeah, I do know him.”
“And? I have the feeling you want to tell me more, Mr. Philetano.” She gave him an innocent-little-girl pout.
Wow, she really knows how to play a man. But a pout? She’s kidding me, right? Nick put it on his agenda, right there, to make this princess grow up.
“Carlo, please. You’re too much, ya know that, Detective? Associates? I’d use that term loosely. They were both in here last Friday and had an all-out pissing match. Neither one of them have the balls to throw a punch. Adam got in the middle. He models for Manning. I saw them from the balcony. Couldn’t hear a thing over the house music. But I doubt if they’re getting along.”
“Do you have security cameras inside?”
“No. And that’s an exaggerated ‘no.’ My clientele come to Constellations
for a private getaway. No consummate sex, but for a sexy time. All in the fantasy. Their future is in the stars. Or at least, they hope it is. Larcon was the look-no-touch type. Never asked for a lap dance. Never so much as even patted a bottom. Still devoted to his wife, I guess.” Sam arched an eyebrow. Carlo shrugged. “More like, he wants to show his son, he’s still devoted.”
Sam arched the other eyebrow. “Oh, you think he’s not, devoted to his wife?”
“No definitive proof. But if you dig deep enough, I’m sure you’ll find something.”
She compressed her lips. “So why don’t you save us some time, Mr. Philetano, and give us a clue as to what you’re thinking? The quicker we find who did this, the faster your family’s involvement won’t be an issue.”
Carlo smiled then swallowed. “She’s good, Nick, where did you find her? Okay. He digs younger women, adult, but half his age. One of my bouncers is going out with one of the girls, and she told him that her friend, not one of my girls, saw him for a time.”
“So your assumptions are from third party info, not personal.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, Thank you, Mr. Philetano.” Sam handed him her card. “If anything else comes to mind, please call.”
“Sure will.” He shot Nick a you’re-a-lucky-bastard look. Nick nodded. He’d have to get used to that look. This time, made it twice, in one day.
Once inside the SUV, Sam blurted out what was on her mind. “Nick, you’re on a first name basis with him?”
“Yeah. His brother, Doctor Paulie Philetano, delivered my three kids.”
***
As soon as he got home, without even talking to his in-laws who babysat, Frank sprinted up the steps to his son’s bedroom right at the top of the landing. He stood at the open doorway, looking around, surprised that everything had been put away. Frankie must have straightened up his room, waiting for the wrath of his dad to impale him, attempting to lessen the blow. Laundry in the hamper, check. Transformers, lined up on his bookshelf, check. Lego blocks in their container, check. Tae Kwon Do gi hung on a rack with his boxing and baseball glove, check. Homework was out on his desk in a neat pile, waiting for Dad to go over it, check.
He grimaced at a light beige blotch on the brown and tan sports wallpaper near the baseboard, where there had been scuffmarks, yesterday. Frankie must have used some detergent to clean it up, but he erased a couple of the baseball player’s heads, along with a hockey goalie, in the process.
Crap. The paper was less than a year old and it was supposed to be washable.
What in the heck did he use to create that much friction?
Frankie had decided he didn’t like the spaceship themed wallpaper anymore. Jen’s parents--whom Frank considered his, they were that close--convinced him to give into Frankie when he wanted his room redone. Now Frank shuddered, looking at the six inch in diameter oval on the wall. Okay, no worries. There was room to move his desk and bookshelves over it. He let out a deep breath to calm down and took a few moments for deep breathing. His gaze went to Frankie, in baseball pj’s on his bed, reading.
When Frankie saw his dad focus on him, he threw off the matching covers and started crying. “Dad.”
Frank sat down on the bed and Frankie jumped into his arms, sat on his lap, and clutched him around the neck, holding on for dear life.
“Dad, I’m sorry.”
“All right, okay, champ.” He rubbed Frankie’s back to calm him down. Closing his eyes, he counted his blessings he had Frankie in his life. The boy was the reason Frank had gone on living after Jen’s death. He breathed the air on this Earth for him. It devastated him to see his son so upset. Frankie had punished himself more than Frank would have punished him. The poor kid. He knew right from wrong. Frank would do what he had to now to stop his son’s seven-year-old-body from quivering. “Okay, tell me about Jessie.”
With his head buried in his father’s neck, he sniffled as he got the words out. “She’s pretty.”
“Oh yeah? What does she look like?”
Frankie sat up and swallowed his tears. “She’s got long orange hair.”
“Orange?”
“Yes. Like a carrot. And she has green eyes.”
“Ah, okay. Girls call that color strawberry blonde. Do you see her every day?” Frank couldn’t believe he was having this discussion with him, already.
“Yes, Dad. She’s in my class. We sit next to each other.”
“Does your teacher know you like each other?”
“Yes, Dad. Everybody knows.”
“Really? How come I didn’t know?”
Frankie looked away and down. “Well, Dad, I felt bad for you.”
“Felt bad for me, why?” Frank didn’t have a clue as to what would come out of his son’s mouth.
“I have a girlfriend and you don’t.”
“Oh, man. That’s okay.” Crap. It was a father’s duty to feel bad for his child, not the other way around. The universe sent him a jolt of humility with this one.
“No. It’s not. You’re not doing anything to get me a new mommy.”
Shocked couldn’t explain how Frank felt. “Oh, man. I’m not ready to find a new mommy.”
“There’s gotta be ladies where you work, right?”
“A couple, but they’re married.”
“There’s gotta be one. Come on, Dad!”
Frank laughed at his persistence. “Well, there was a new one who started today, in fact.”
Frankie giggled. “What does she look like?”
“She’s got long blonde hair, and blue-gray eyes, and a perfect Grecian nose.”
“What’s a Grecian nose?”
“Straight, with no bumps.”
“Eww. What else?”
“Come to think of it, she resembles Mommy.”
Frankie opened his eyes wide and blinked a few times. He put his index finger over his mouth before he spoke. “Hmm, maybe, just maybe, this lady--maybe Mommy sent her down from heaven for us.”
Frank didn’t know what to say. Even the psychiatrist in him froze. He took Frankie back into his arms and squeezed him tight. “Wow,” he whispered. “Wow.” His voice became lower each time. “Okay, champ, bed now. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.” He tucked Frankie back under the covers and kissed him.
Wow. Just wow.
In the shower, Frank let the warm water cascade down his frame. He’d had to raise the showerhead to give him a good seven inches above his head. They had bought the two-story house built in the eighties, but gutted the interior, renovating completely. To him, the decor was a bit too feminine. He always let Jen have her way regarding the decorating. He really disliked the mauve tiling and shower curtain. Jen had been torn between the trend of almond-themed décor, and the mauve for the bathrooms. So their master bedroom settled with the mauve, and the two other guest bathrooms in the house went with the almond. Even after Jen’s death, he wouldn’t have changed it for anything. Jen was in every tile, every wallpaper design, every picture, every appliance, every bit of furniture in the ten rooms, every crevice, every atom in this house. He would never change anything, nor leave it.
Frankie’s words boomeranged in his brain. Frank had to relax. He stood still after washing himself down and just did deep breathing. His neck was tight. He’d have to schedule a massage from his guy at the gym.
After he dried off, he trudged into the attached master bedroom. Plopping down on his bed, nude, he laid his hand on Jen’s side. That was the only way he’d fall asleep. In the military, he had been trained to fall asleep in two minutes. Since Jen was murdered, he was lucky if it only took him two hours.
He stared up at his and Jen’s wedding picture that was on the wall facing him. The hand painted mauve and burgundy floral design on a cream background paper accentuated the sterling silver frame, perfectly. He had to admit, he looked great in that ivory single-button tux with a cummerbund, though he’d never put on another one, ever. He couldn’t believe he had actually let Jen talk him into it. B
ut whatever Jen wanted, Jen got. His mission was to make her happy. That would have been his only mission in life. To make Jen happy.
Damn the bastard who took that away from me.
So now his mission was Frankie. To make him a happy, healthy, successful person with a good heart, so he could find his own Jen. Frank just hoped, this wasn’t Jessie, yet. He pulled Jen’s pillow onto his chest, as tears trickled from the corners of his eyes. He’d never bring another woman into this bed. Whenever he indulged for a release, but never a relationship, it was in the woman’s home or in his secret place.
He stared up at the wedding picture again. Jen was gorgeous in her off-white Victorian gown, with an off the shoulder line, long sleeves with ruffles at the waist, tightly cascading down her perfect body, ending in a trumpet swing. Trumpet? How in heck did he remember that? Oh, man. He missed her.
He swallowed hard, holding back the tears. “Okay, Jen. Tell me, princess. Are you telling me it’s time? Did you send Samantha into our lives?”
CHAPTER 9
Frank entered the conference room, feeling unsettled from his son’s comment last night. ‘Maybe Mommy sent her down from heaven for us,’ kept reverberating in his brain, like a tune one repeatedly heard and couldn’t get rid of. No matter how hard one would try, that tune would overtake their day, their consciousness. Sometimes for weeks at a time. He hoped this wouldn’t be the case. He massaged his forehead, as if that would help him stop the voice. It didn’t. He would have trouble focusing on the case today. No. He had to force himself. That was his personal ultimatum.
He wasn’t one to accept messages from the universe. He’d never gotten them before. Yeah, he was intuitive, but that came from his psychology and psychiatry training, and listening to his body came through MMA. He did believe in the mind-body connection but the universe had never spoken to him personally before. Or he hadn’t opened himself up to being receptive to messages, was more like it.
Ah, forget about it.