by Arjay Lewis
“He left tracks?” the voice responded, impressed.
“Right. And I remember something Marlowe told me, that if he is in this plane of existence, he can change form, but he has to be somewhere and disguised as something.”
“As soon as the sun sets, I’ll look into it,” Daniel stated decisively. “Good thinking…for a Newling.”
Eddie felt a smile on his face. “Thanks, Daniel. Nice seeing you…ah…not seeing you…well, nice talking.”
“Fare thee well, lieutenant.”
The mirror silvered over and once again reflected Eddie’s face. He put his staff away, and left the bathroom to find his partner skulking outside the door.
“You all right, Eddie?”
“Fine,” Eddie’s face grew hot. Had Luis overheard him? “Where’s Beverly?”
“Back to work. She said she’ll send us reports as soon as she gets more information.”
Eddie nodded. “Let’s go talk with Alfonso Cuccolo. See if he knew our Mr. Yamasuto.”
Luis nodded and they headed for the elevator.
Vasquez was not sure if following Doc Warren’s advice was a good choice. Then, he’d heard Eddie in the bathroom as he carried on two sides of a conversation. He couldn’t hear the words clearly, but it was about the case. He knew it couldn’t have been a cell call, or he would only have heard Eddie’s end of the conversation. His partner must have made both voices. Maybe Eddie really was losing his mind. So, if he did follow his partner and friend, it was for his own good.
Wasn’t it?
Thirty-One
Alfonso Cuccolo could always be easily found, his practices were more predictable than the Pope’s.
Years of surveillance by the FBI, the Major Crimes Unit, the Organized Crime Task Force, as well as recently by the Urban Crime Task Force, made him a creature of habit.
He was partaking of an afternoon latté at his favorite dive on Mulberry Street, in the colorful section of downtown New York known as Little Italy. It was a short collection of streets with Italian restaurants, bistros, and stores. Two blocks further south was Canal Street, the center of Chinatown, which every year expanded further north into the Italian district.
Most of the Italians had moved to other parts of the city. They no longer needed to band together in one section as new immigrants. All that was left of “the neighborhood” was a small assembly of businesses, a tiny reminder of the old days.
It didn’t matter. Cuccolo was comfortable here. He wasn’t a gangster like on television; he was the real thing, and he wanted to stay in NYC.
At the restauranté, he could give orders to his lieutenants, and receive orders from his superiors without phones, notes, or anything that might be traced. He did it the old-fashioned way--direct human contact.
Eddie and Luis arrived and showed their detective shields to a rather burly gentleman who stood by the door to the private upstairs room and asked for the mob boss.
After only a minute of waiting, they were brought into Cuccolo’s presence. He was tall, good-looking, well-dressed, and moved with the lithe grace of a professional dancer. He wore his gray hair long, and pulled away from his face in a ponytail.
“Gentlemen,” Cuccolo rose while the detectives were shown in. There were six other men in the room, all of them looked like extras from The Godfather, with gold chains and expensive suits.
Cuccolo turned to a man, “Give the detectives chairs.”
“We’ll stand, if it’s all right with you, Mr. Cuccolo,” Eddie said.
Cuccolo held up his hands in a move that on anyone else would look pretentious and sat down.
“Can I offer you gentlemen a cappuccino, maybe a cannoli?” Cuccolo turned his glance to Luis. “You look like a man who enjoys a good cannoli.”
Cuccolo said this with a tone that could be meant to mock the large man, or not; it was hard to be sure.
“Mr. Cuccolo, we need to ask you if you are familiar with a diplomat named Haiku Yamasuto?” He held out the autopsy photo Luis had received from Beverly.
His face betrayed no expression. “I like that. You don’t beat around the bush, right to the point.” He took the photo and looked at it. “You’re in the wrong neighborhood, officer. Go downtown a few blocks and you’ll find a hundred guys who look just like this.”
This made the other men in the room snicker.
“Perhaps you know something about this,” Eddie held out the drawing made by Akio of the statuette.
Cuccolo’s eyes widened; not much, just the smallest fraction. “Nice piece. I’m more familiar with Native American antiquities.” He handed the drawing and photo back to Eddie.
“Can you tell us your whereabouts last night between eleven PM and one AM?” Eddie said.
“Ask the FBI. I was home. My wife and I live uptown just off Fifth Avenue.”
“Near the Metropolitan Museum of Art?”
“As a matter of fact, yeah.”
“Which is where this man was found murdered,” Eddie flashed the photo again.
“Really?” Cuccolo said with a shrug. “What a coincidence.”
Eddie nodded. This was going to be no help. Cuccolo spent the majority of his life deceiving law enforcement. Did he really expect the gangster to be forthcoming?
Then, in a flash, Eddie realized he wasn’t stuck like a regular cop.
He was a wizard.
“Mr. Cuccolo, may I give you my card?” Eddie carefully kept his hands in plain sight as he slowly reached for his wallet. “In case you recall anything.”
The men near Cuccolo watched at the ready, just in case Eddie was some crazy cop who might pull his gun. Eddie knew they all had weapons, and probably knew places they could dump bodies, if the need arose.
Eddie pulled out his wallet and extracted, not his regular white business card, but the black wood grain credit card.
Luis frowned, not sure what his partner was up to.
Eddie held the card out, and as Cuccolo’s fingers grasped it, casually said, “If you know anything that might help, I’d really appreciate it.”
Cuccolo looked like he’d been struck with a heavy object. He snapped his head back, and his eyes underwent a change. Yet, he still held his end of the card.
“Detective,” he finally said, “I cannot suggest that I would be anywhere near the site of such a terrible crime. To say such a thing would mean that I could fool a bunch of federal agents whose job it is to know my whereabouts.”
“I understand, Mr. Cuccolo,” Eddie agreed.
“But, I have been known to collect antiques, especially ancient religious symbols.”
“A harmless enough hobby,” Eddie smiled.
“I have heard rumors of the availability of an ancient Shinto talisman rather like the one you showed me,” Cuccolo went on, his face relaxed, but his hand still tight on the black card. “As I understood it, several people were interested in purchasing it.”
“These are just rumors?”
“Well, the odd thing was one specific buyer contacted me, interested in both the Shinto and a rare Native American artifact in my possession.”
“But you didn’t wish to do business with this buyer?” Eddie suggested.
“Too pushy. If I were involved…and I’m not saying I was…”
“Of course.”
“I would have offered your guy here,” Cuccolo tapped the photo that Eddie held with his free hand. “Whatever he wanted to keep his piece from that buyer.”
Luis’ mouth fell open, as well as the six men in the room. None of them could understand why Cuccolo was telling Eddie so much.
Eddie spoke in a concerned tone. “I should point out that whoever did this to Mr. Yamasuto might attempt to get your artifact as well.”
A sudden look of surprise came over Cuccolo’s face, and he shook his head, as if he woke from a nap, his hand retracted from the card. Eddie could tell that the magic that made him forthcoming was being pushed aside by the gangster’s own secretive nature.
“Of course, these are all just rumors, officer,” Cuccolo instantly regained the calm look on his face.
“Thank you, Mr. Cuccolo, you’ve been most helpful.” Eddie returned the black card back to his wallet and extracted a standard white one with his contact numbers.
“If you hear any more rumors, it might be an idea to call me. My cell number is there,” Eddie offered.
Cuccolo frowned as if he tried to understand what just happened. He finally took the card from Eddie. “Yeah, sure.”
Eddie turned and walked down the stairs as Luis shambled behind him.
“Don’t that beat all,” Luis wondered. “He practically tol’ you he was the buyer. How did you get him to do that?”
Eddie shrugged. “My winning personality.”
Thirty-Two
It wasn’t until they got back to the precinct and Eddie finished his preliminary report on the Yamasuto murder that he tried to reach Marlowe again.
He decided that if someone caught him in the locker room as he yelled into a mirror, it might bring to reality his repeated fantasy of a padded cell.
Instead, he took out his cell phone and dialed, ‘212-18’, then pushed the ‘SEND’ button, all the time holding his special credit card.
“Marlowe,” said the voice over the line.
“It’s Eddie.”
“Eddie! Good to hear from you. When will you get here?”
Eddie looked over to see that Luis was busy at the coffee machine. “As soon as I can. I may have a break. I think whoever is working with Abraxas is trying to get his hands on another talisman.”
“Really? Do you know where this one originated?”
“I think it’s Native American. But, I don’t know if Abraxas or his warlock can get it.”
“Why not?”
“It’s owned by a criminal named Alfonso Cuccolo. Not only does he have a small army of his own protection, but the FBI watches him like a hawk.”
“A wizard would have no trouble stealing it.”
“Which is not a good thing.”
“Your grasp of the situation is astounding, Eddie.”
There was a pause as Eddie thought about this. “Now, you’re just messing with me, right?”
“Me?”
“I wanted to let you know, I got him to tell more than he wanted—”
“You cast a truth spell?”
“I guess, that was what I was trying for,” Eddie glanced at Luis who was now going through the remains of a box of donuts.
Marlow mused. “I begin to see a pattern in the events, the artifacts, and the murders.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I must do more research, get new ideas, perhaps consult Bankrock. Please come here as soon as you can,” Marlowe advised. “Perhaps we can conceive a way to protect your Mr. Cuccolo.”
“We won’t be the only ones with an eye on him,” Eddie stated grimly. “I’ll be there soon.”
He ended the phone call as Luis sauntered back to his desk, as he munched on a glazed donut.
“Hey,” Eddie said, as Luis sat.
Luis raised the remaining half of a pastry in a salute.
“I’m done with my report,” Eddie acknowledged. “How is yours going?”
“Goin’,” Luis said, and he began to work on the computer keyboard in his personal style, which consisted of moving one finger around as he hit an occasional letter. Fortunately, this mode of typing did not interfere with his eating.
“I want to get out and go over the scene again,” Eddie suggested. “Then call it a day.”
Luis didn’t look up, and his face didn’t register even a hint of suspicion. “Good idea. We got to work the weekend anyway, you might as well have a night with the family.”
Inwardly Eddie sighed with relief. “Great! Well, bright and early tomorrow, then.”
“You got it, partner,” Luis clicked away and chewed his donut.
Eddie rose and put on his jacket, checked his tie, and headed for the door and out into the early evening.
Eddie inhaled deeply as he walked up the sidewalk while cars rushed by him. The spring air cleared his head. It was June in New York, and the air was scrubbed clean.
The sun had descended behind the top of the trees, and the day moved toward sunset, still at least a half an hour away.
He crossed Central Park West and walked up the stairs to Marlowe’s townhouse. He knocked on the door, and was let in by Frisha.
Unknown to Eddie, as he had wandered outdoors, Luis casually shut down his computer and moved to the window to watch as Eddie turned up the transverse road.
Luis quickly got downstairs, a pair of binoculars in his hand. He watched as Eddie crossed Central Park West, walked up the steps and knocked. A woman let him in, and Luis tried to remember where he’d seen her before.
Once Eddie was inside, Luis casually strolled across the traverse road and into the police parking lot. He drove his car as close to the townhouse as he could. Luis knew that parking spots opened up on the street as the commuters left for home.
It took him only ten minutes, his third time around the block, to locate a space and park. The site was perfect, perpendicular to the building, and gave him a view of the front door. He was annoyed that he couldn’t look inside the building, but there were closed curtains on all four floors.
He focused his binoculars on the front door, and found it odd that there wasn’t a big mailbox with apartment’s names and numbers. He wondered if the building could possibly have only one tenant.
He put the seat back and watched the building. Forty-five minutes or so passed, and Luis checked the door repeatedly.
As the shadows thickened, he saw two figures walk out of the park. One was a thin Asian man, neatly dressed, accompanied by a woman about five-foot-ten.
They seemed oblivious to the world around them, and gave the appearance of two close friends who hadn’t seen each other in years. The man was dressed in a suit, except the coat was long, rather like the ones worn at old-fashioned weddings, and a bright vest with Asian symbols on it. The woman was attractive with long, gray-black hair, and dressed in a maroon jacket and long skirt with a black blouse.
The strange thing about them was that they carried two large poles with them.
Luis sat up with as much stealth as he possessed, and watched the two carefully.
They indeed carried sticks, not the ones mountain climbers use, but like Moses in that old movie The Ten Commandments.
They crossed the street, and Luis sank as low in the car as his large frame allowed.
When he peeked up again, he instantly located the couple as they stopped at the bottom of a set of stairs.
They no longer held the sticks.
The man now carried a cane with a hook on the end, and the woman was putting a large wooden clip through her bounty of hair, and pulled it back as she did.
Luis narrowed his eyes.
Did he just see that?
To add to the mystery, they ascended the steps to the very townhouse Eddie was in!
Luis lifted his binoculars to watch them as the man knocked on the door with his cane. The same familiar woman opened the door and gave each one a hug.
The woman at the door was heavy, dressed in a flowing robe covered with moons and stars than emanated a glow of their own.
Something in Luis’ mind went “click.” It was the crazy lady who lived in the box!
Questions ran through his head. What was she doing here? What was Eddie doing here? Who were these new people?
He still had no idea what was going on, but he made a vow to himself that he wouldn’t leave until he found out.
Thirty-Three
“No, no,” Marlowe chided. “That will not work!”
Eddie rose up slowly from the floor, his cloak smoldering, and his face marked by soot.
“How could I know that fireball you sent would turn and come back at me?” Eddie was aware that smoke issued from his mouth as he spoke. “I thought fire couldn’t
hurt me.”
“You’re not hurt, only singed.” Marlowe, with his thumb and forefinger, tweaked out a small flame on Eddie’s shoulder. “And in a battle you must stay focused. None of your abilities just happen, they must be activated by—”
“I know, I know,” Eddie sniped. “By will and intent.”
“Good!” Marlowe praised. “Some of my teaching is sinking in. But you must be able to act from instinct. I am sure you trained with your pistol by firing it again and again.”
“I still go to the range at least once a month.”
“There you are—”
Three loud gongs rang. And Bob materialized through the door.
“Front door!” Bob tumbled excitedly in the air. “‘Genia here!”
“Ah!” Marlowe said. “Our guests have finally arrived. Bob, you must wait upstairs. We cannot be disturbed.”
“Awww!” Bob said, his lower lip drooping halfway to the floor in abject misery. “Want to see ‘Genia.”
“You will, Bob,” Marlowe assured, as the small spirit sadly flew up and through the high ceiling.
Marlowe turned to Eddie. “It is time to meet the rest of the Five.” With a small wave of his staff his clothes shifted to modern dress with another outlandish tie.
Eddie followed and made his own small circle in the air, which transformed his robes into his suit. Unfortunately, it was burned in all the places his cloak had been.
“Uh, Marlowe,” Eddie pleaded, as he looked over the damage.
“Oh! This will not do at all,” Marlowe made a quick wave of his staff, and Eddie’s clothes were immediately repaired and his face cleaned.
They walked up the stairs into the grand entrance hall, where two people stood with Frisha. Marlowe moved forward to embrace the pair: an average-height Asian gentleman and a tall woman with dark hair.
“It’s like old times, I’ll tell ye plain,” Frisha effused and wiped a tear from her eye. “To see ye all together like this.”
“Yes, with a new member in our distinguished group,” Marlowe reported. “This is Eddie Berman, who bears the Staff of Fire.”
“More likely our extinguished group,” the Asian man said with a slight accent, as he leaned on a fairly plain walking stick with a hook. His hair was white and the lines in his face were deeper than Marlowe’s. He wore a long black jacket with a red silk vest embroidered with Japanese symbols in the cloth. The cut coupled with his straight back and sturdy shoulders made him seem appropriately attired.