“All right, maybe a few minutes earlier,” Frankie said, and rushed off. “Lock the door when you leave.”
It took Frankie twenty-five minutes to get to the scene because of traffic. Mazzetti was sitting on the stoop of a run-down apartment building, waiting for Frankie, smoke leaking from the side of his mouth. A couple of young kids were squeezing through a hole in a chain-link fence, leading in from a patch of broken concrete they’d made into a makeshift basketball court.
“You guys live here?” Frankie asked.
“Who wants to know?” the tallest one said.
Frankie showed him the badge. “We might have a stiff upstairs. Know anything about it?”
The short one bounced the ball from hand to hand, shaking his head. The older one said, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“You didn’t answer me. You live here?”
They both said no almost at the same time.
“All right, let us know if you hear anything, will ya’? Help me out and I’ll get you a pass on something. Not drugs, but something.”
A light seemed to go off in their eyes. “You got a card?”
“I got two,” Frankie said, and pulled a couple out of his shirt pocket.
“Dressed a little fly for a cop,” the little guy said. First time, he’d spoken except for the ‘no.’
Frankie smiled. “You worry about getting me a lead. I got the rest covered.”
Little Guy bumped fists with Frankie. “Keep a line open, dude. I might call.”
“Do that,” Frankie said. He kicked a few bottles aside as he made his way to the steps. “Hey, Lou. How’s it going?”
“From here it’s fine.” He lifted his head toward the top of the building. “Up there, I don’t know.”
“They got no elevator?”
Lou struggled to stand, hand placed on his leg as he pushed up. “They got an elevator but it’s broken. How’s that for a place, huh?” He got to his feet with some effort, and walked toward the front door. “Tell you what, if it’s the super that’s dead, close the case. I don’t blame someone for killing him.”
“So what, you want me to carry you up?”
“I’d die first.”
“You’re right about that.” Frankie got to the bottom of the stairs and looked up. It seemed like an endless climb. “What floor?”
“Sixth, which might as well be the fiftieth. I ain’t gonna make it.”
Frankie crushed out his cigarette in the grass next to the sidewalk. No sense in making the climb more difficult. He grabbed Lou by the arm and started up the first flight, avoiding any contact with the railing. God knows what germs were on it.
A few remnants of green paint clung to the sides of the stair treads, but they were so worn in the middle there weren’t even any splinters. The walls were covered with graffiti, and though some was the same old raunchy stuff that had been decorating walls for decades, other parts were funny. Frankie found himself smiling. It wasn’t much different than his own building.
A few minutes later they hit the top of the steps, Mazzetti panting as if he were dying. “Donovan, we better solve this case quick, because I’m not coming back up here.”
Frankie nodded to the two uniforms standing in the hallway. About ten feet from them sat what appeared to be two large suitcases wrapped in plastic garbage bags. “What have we got?”
“Not sure yet,” one of them said. “One of the kids found this when they came out this morning. There’s a note on it that says ‘more bodies coming’ and there appears to be blood on it.”
Frankie made his way over, with Lou right behind him. “You didn’t open them?”
“Hell no. Could be a bomb in there. I called it in and they told me to wait for you.”
Mazzetti brushed a hand in the air. “Nobody’s setting off a bomb in this place.”
“Open it up,” Frankie said.
“Kate’s on her way,” Lou said. “We should wait for her.”
Just the mention of Kate's name made Frankie uncomfortable. She had resisted all of his attempts to get back together even though they hung out a lot and had gotten to be damn good friends. He looked around, then addressed one of the uniforms. “You talk to any neighbors yet?”
“No answer at three of them. The others swear they heard nothing.”
The sound of footsteps climbing the stairs got Frankie’s attention. “That you, Kate?”
“It’s me. Ask Mazzetti to come give me a hand.”
“You know what you can do with that hand,” Lou said. “Hurry and get up here.”
A few minutes later Kate and her team stood in front of the suitcases. She nodded to Donovan. “I see Shawna Pavic’s team got here early.”
“Yeah, I saw that,” he said.
Kate grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. “I don’t get you, Donovan. You go out of your way to attract women, but you don’t let anyone in. If it’s just sex you want, get a prostitute. You’re doing yourself and Shawna both an injustice by pretending.”
Frankie clenched his teeth. He wanted to say bullshit, and a few other things…but she was right. “That hit below the belt, Kate.”
“That’s where I aimed,” she said, and joined her crew.
Her cameraman took pictures, and another member of her team cut the plastic and pulled out the first suitcase. Tentative, he unzipped it.
“Whoa, we got a body,” he said and stepped back.
Kate moved in, studying it. “No head. No hands or feet.” She rolled the torso to the side. “And no male organ. I’m guessing the rest of him is in the other suitcase.”
Mazzetti covered his mouth with his handkerchief and stepped closer. “They cut his dick off? The least they could have done was give us a whole body to work with.”
“If we don’t get lucky, this one will be a John Doe for a long time,” Frankie said.
“Unless there’s a wallet with a license stuffed up his ass,” Lou said.
Kate turned and glanced at Mazzetti. “You want to take a look?”
“That’s your department,” Lou said. “I just catch killers.”
Frankie’s phone rang and he answered it. “Donovan.”
“Frankie, it’s Donna. Mom needs you to come home.”
She sounded upset. Frankie stepped a few feet away. “What’s the matter? She sick?”
“No, she’s…just come home, all right.”
“Donna, I can’t just pick up and leave. I’m in the middle of a case. What’s going on?” Irritation started to set in, like it always did when Frankie spoke with his sisters, especially Donna.
He waited through a long silence, trying to listen to what Kate was telling Lou, then Donna spoke again, but through a lot of sobbing and tears. “It’s Dad, Frankie. He’s dead.”
Dead! “What happened? When?” Frankie put one hand to his head and began walking in circles. “Holy shit.”
“It happened this morning,” Donna said. Frankie could barely understand her through all the tears. “He had…a…heart attack.”
Frankie stopped walking and took a deep breath. “Okay, Donna. Okay, take it easy. I’ll be down as fast as I can. Is Mom okay? Are you okay?”
Her crying had gotten out of control. “Just get down here fast. Mom needs you…we all do.”
“I’m leaving right now. Take me about two, probably two and a half hours to get there. Tell Mom I’m on my way.”
He put the phone in his pocket and headed toward Mazzetti.
Lou must have sensed something was wrong. “Who was that? Everything okay?” When Frankie didn’t answer, Lou walked over to him. “Donovan, you okay?”
Frankie shook his head. “My dad died.”
“Goddamn. I’m sorry. Shit!” Lou grabbed hold of Frankie and hugged him. “Are you all right?”
Frankie nodded. “Tell Kate, will you? I gotta go.”
“Go on. Get out of here,” Lou said. “I got this covered.”
Frankie looked around the scene, as if there were something he was
still supposed to do. “Yeah, I gotta go. I’ll call you later.” He ran all the way down the steps, and to his car. He stopped at his apartment, grabbed a suit and other clothes, then bounded down the steps. Within fifteen minutes he was heading across the Verazzano Bridge on I-278. Soon he would connect with I-95 and be on his way south to Wilmington. The problem was, Frankie didn’t want to go home. Not even for a funeral.
CHAPTER 4
A Long Ride
It didn’t take long for Frankie’s mind to start drifting, Donna’s words playing over and over in his head like an old 45 record stuck in a groove.
It’s Dad, Frankie. He’s dead.
Frankie hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “Goddamn.” He stepped on the gas at the same time, kicking the speedometer up a notch to eighty-five. Donna sounded bad, and he knew his mom would be a basket case. His other sisters, too.
A nagging, dull pain simmered in his gut. He didn’t know if his body wanted to throw up or…he just didn’t know. As his mind drifted, he wondered if this was how Nicky felt when his pops died. Frankie remembered that funeral as if it were yesterday. Now that he knew what it felt like to lose a father, Frankie wished he’d done more to console Nicky. Come to think of it there were a lot of things Frankie wished. Like that he’d called his father more often. He couldn’t remember the last time he called his father just to talk. Frankie searched his memory, but kept coming up blank.
Was it Dad’s birthday? Did I even call him on his birthday? No, I didn’t. It was Christmas. What a fuckin’ loser I am.
He wiped a tear from his eye, took out a smoke and lit it, sucking hard. Had he argued with his dad the last time they talked? He usually did. When was the last time he told his dad he loved him? He flicked the cigarette out the window, getting no comfort from smoking it. “You’re a piece of shit, Bugs Donovan. A goddamn rotten piece of shit.”
He tried getting his mind off that line of thinking, searching for anything that would take him away from thoughts of funerals and death. From the corner of his eye he saw the sign for New Brunswick, bringing back a memory of a girl he dated, although not for long. She didn’t like Brooklyn, and Frankie wasn’t about to leave it. Even that thought brought bad memories, and thoughts of the girl made him think of his mother.
Marriage is forever, she always said, and she lived her life that way, at least on the surface.
Frankie grew up thinking his dad was an ass, always keeping tabs on his mother, never letting her out on her own, demanding to know where she was going or where she’d been. Frankie wondered how, and why, his mother put up with it, and he ended up hating his father for the way he treated her. It wasn’t until years later that Frankie found out his mother had trouble keeping to one man. He refused to believe the rumors for years. By the time he knew the truth, his relationship with his father was gone.
The idea of marriage made Frankie think of his own twisted life. He’d been through more relationships than he cared to admit, and most of the break-ups were his fault. In fact, he seemed to avoid any relationship that held promise for marriage, sticking to married women, or ones otherwise involved. Shawna popped into his head, and he made a mental note to tell her what was going on with his father.
He liked thinking about the good old days of his childhood, but he was wise enough now to realize they never were that good. Maybe it’s time to start a new life.
Frankie wished he could go way back. Back to when things were simple, when he and his friends ruled the streets. As he thought about how much he missed those days, he wondered where Paulie was, and how Nicky was doing. He hadn’t talked to Nicky since the incident in Brooklyn six months ago, but Nicky had sent a letter. He’d found Angela and they got married. If Frankie remembered right, they lived on Beech Street, not far from where they all grew up.
Then Frankie thought about Bobby, Donna’s husband, which brought back memories of the old days, specifically of the gang fight that sent Nicky away, the one where Nicky killed Bobby’s brother. Both of them being at his father’s wake wouldn’t be good, but Frankie didn’t know what to do about it. Bobby had to be there, and Nicky would show up out of respect. It’s the way he was. As he worried about what might happen, he pushed the thoughts aside.
Guess I’ll find out soon enough.
CHAPTER 5
Reunion
Wilmington, Delaware
I got up early, went for my morning run, had coffee with Angie, and then headed off to work. What I wanted to do was kill Marty Ferris but that would have to wait. Even though I promised Rosa I wouldn’t hurt Marty, a burning desire to punish him churned in my gut.
What kind of cowardly fuck hits a kid?
When I got to Front Street I took a right and had to immediately lower the visor to keep out the morning sun, which promised a nice day. Traffic was already bad. When I stopped for the light at the corner of Front and Clayton I looked over at the spot where a barber shop used to be when we were kids. We walked there once a month to get haircuts and sit and listen to the old guys tell stories.
My dreams were interrupted by the sound of a horn beeping behind me. I’d been sitting at the traffic light for probably half a second after it turned green. Impatient bastard. Everybody was in a hurry. I stayed on Front Street, passing by other old memories, continuing in a half stupor all the way to downtown, then turned in by the river where the new construction was going on. After spreading the prints across the hood of the car, I took a closer look at the building site. We’d be sending half the damn company here in a week or so, and the boss sure as shit didn’t want a delay once the project got started.
It took me almost an hour to finish, forcing myself to double-check the numbers. Every time I did something like this I thought of Tony and how much faster he could have done this, but with those thoughts came the memory of what he did to Angie. I never understood how any man could do that to a woman. I hated him for what he did, but I hated him almost as much for tainting my memories. Now I couldn’t think of old times without that popping into my head. I rolled up the prints, put everything in the front seat and headed to the office. Before I got two blocks the phone rang. It was Angie.
“Hello?”
“Nicky, I just got a call from Mary Ellen Donovan. Frankie’s father died.”
“What? Goddamn. When?”
“This morning. He had a heart attack.”
“Holy shit. Poor Mrs. D.”
Somebody swerved in front of me, forcing me to hit the brakes. Stupid fuck.
“When’s the wake?” There was no need to ask where. Everybody still got buried at Jimmy Maldonaddo’s, though they had moved to better facilities. Burying people was a good business, good enough to support four brothers and their families and let them all drive Caddies.
“Probably tomorrow night. I’ll call later. And would you stop calling it a wake. People say ‘viewing’ now.”
“Guess I’m old fashioned. We are still supposed to stay up and watch aren’t we?”
“Stay up eating and drinking is more like it, and telling tales.” She paused. “Are you going over tonight?”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
I hadn’t talked to Bugs since New York. He had been pissed at me—more than pissed—especially after what happened to Tony. Not for the first time I wondered if the relationship with Bugs had survived. We hadn’t talked in six months and I was more than apprehensive. With Tony dead, and Paulie gone…somewhere, Bugs was the only connection I had to the old memories, the ones that got more important with every year that passed.
Angie broke the silence. “I don’t care what you do, Nicky, I’m going to the house. I’ll get Rosa to help make meatballs and ziti. There will be a lot of people; they’ll need food.”
Angie had her it’s-the-right-thing-to-do voice working. I knew there was no point in arguing. “Whatever you think, but warn Rosa so she doesn’t throw a fit at the last minute.”
“She’ll be fine. I raised that girl to know her duti
es; besides, she loves cooking for people.”
“I wonder who she got that from?” I turned onto the street where our office was, parked and got out. “All right, listen. I’ll try to get off early so I can clean up and we can get there at a decent time. If it just happened this morning, I doubt Bugs is even here yet. They’ll need time alone.”
“Okay, I’ll see you tonight,” she said, then before hanging up, “Nicky…have you and Bugs talked since you were in New York?”
“No. I sent him a letter, that’s all.”
“Is that going to be uncomfortable?”
“I guess, but his father died. That takes precedence.”
***
Driving provided some sanity for Frankie, and for a minute he wished the drive were longer. He was in no hurry to get caught up in the drama that surrounded his family, especially under these circumstances.
And Nicky.
He presented another problem, one the shrinks at the department would love to analyze, not to mention Internal Affairs. Frankie was a cop and he had let a killer go. Sure Nicky was his best friend and had saved Frankie’s life, but Frankie was a cop, and the fact remained that he let a killer walk.
So here he was, driving through New Jersey’s Pine Barrens, wondering why he was afraid of relationships and dreading a reunion with his screwed-up family and his killer friend. It was going to bring everything to the surface again, after it had taken him so long to bury it. He shook his head and focused on the drive while restraining a laugh. If a shrink got hold of him now, he’d crack like a bad egg. God give me the strength, he thought, and let off the gas. No sense in getting there too early.
An hour later Frankie pulled off I-95 and within fifteen minutes he was turning onto Clayton Street. In some ways the area looked the same as it had thirty years ago. The cars parked out front were newer models, and the streets weren’t as full of kids playing stick ball or the best-of-all game—Relievio—but the houses hadn’t changed and the feel of the neighborhood hadn’t either.
He turned onto Banning Street and parked by the school, knowing there wouldn’t be a space by his house. Or was it because he needed the time to himself before he got there. Enough tears had been shed on his way from Brooklyn, but he knew more were coming, especially after he saw his mom. Halfway down the block he braced himself, determined not to let his emotions get the best of him.
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