Murder Has Consequences

by Giammatteo, Giacomo

  “For the kids or California.”

  “Both, I guess. Next time you talk to him, tell him I said hi.” Frankie turned to Jimmy. “So what’s the story. I know you didn’t bring me here to ID him, and sure as shit not to meet your partner.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “About the fight?”

  Jimmy nodded. “That, and other things, but I know you don’t have much time. I just want some basics.”

  “You want to do it here, or go somewhere?”

  Jimmy walked down the steps into the parking lot. “It won’t take long, and I know you’re going to be busier than ever now. It’s a damn mess, isn’t it?”

  Frankie nodded. “They all are. It makes it worse when it’s someone you know.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it. I went through this a few years ago with my sister’s kid.”

  Frankie turned to him, surprised. “Ellen’s kid? What happened?”

  “Drugs.”

  “Nasty shit,” Frankie said, and reached for a smoke. “So here’s the rundown. We’re all at my mom’s house and Bobby is getting mouthy with Donna. They fight all the time. I didn’t want Mom hearing that shit, so I told them to settle down or leave. Bobby left.” Frankie stopped to accept a light from Ed, then continued. “After he left, Donna got worried and sent me to look for him. Teddy’s was my first stop.”

  “So you figured he’d be there?” Ed asked. “He drink a lot?”

  Frankie sucked hard on his smoke. “He was married to my sister.”

  Jimmy smiled. “So you found him at Teddy’s?”

  “Yeah, he was at the bar, spouting off about a lot of stuff. I tried being civil, but he started in on Donna, which I didn’t mind too much, but then he started in on my mom.” Frankie sucked the last bit of life from his cigarette, then crushed it out on the blacktop. “He called her a whore, Jimmy. I had to hit him.”

  Jimmy looked as if he might say something, but whatever it was, he held it in. “Then what?”

  “I hit him with a mug of beer, cracked him on the side of the head, then I kicked his ass some more.” Frankie got angry all over again. “But I’m telling you, he was okay when I left. Hurt, but okay. No way what I did killed him.”

  “He have money?”

  Frankie laughed. “Who, Bobby? He didn’t have a pot to piss in, a window to throw it out of, or a sidewalk for it to land on. They still live in my aunt’s old house.”

  Borelli looked hard at him. “So where’d he get the bank account?”

  “What bank account?”

  Borelli nodded to Mrozinski, who pulled out his notepad. “Fifty grand in an account in his name only, and a safe deposit box we haven’t accessed yet.”

  Frankie whistled. “Are you shitting me? Fifty grand?”

  “Fifty large,” Jimmy said.

  “I have no fucking idea where he’d get that kind of money, but I intend to find out.”

  Jimmy put up a hand. “How about you let me do that. Now, getting back to the night in question, where did you go after you kicked his ass?”

  “Home, to my mother’s house.”

  “Straight home?”

  Frankie shook his head. “First I went to see Nicky, but he wasn’t home, so I walked the park for a few minutes.”

  “About how long?”

  Frustration settled in. “I don’t know. A few fucking minutes. Five, ten. Shit, maybe it was fifteen. What difference does it make?”

  “It might make a lot of difference once we get the TOD.” Jimmy scribbled some notes in his pad. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier about the fight?”

  “I didn’t feel like it. I knew we’d talk again, and I figured you weren’t going to solve the case today.”

  “Was Nicky there last night?”

  “I already told you I went looking for him. No, he wasn’t there.”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  “Bullshit! Don’t try to pin this on Nicky because you think he’s an easy mark. He didn’t do it.”

  “Was he at the wake last night?”

  Frankie’s face twisted into a scowl. “Of course he was there. Angie and Rosa, too.”

  “What time did he leave?”

  Frankie thought. “I don’t know. Ask him.”

  “I plan to,” Jimmy said. “I’m just getting my facts straight.” He wrote a few more things on his pad. “You know about that, don’t you? Getting your facts straight, I mean.”

  Frankie pushed him, spurring Ed to grab his arm. “Fuck you, Borelli. How about that? I’m done here.” Frankie pushed Mrozinski aside and headed to his car, started it and wheeled out of the parking lot.

  “I guess you pushed the right button,” Mrozinski said.

  Jimmy stared at the car tearing down the street. “Yeah, but which button was it? The Bobby button, or the Nicky Fusco button?”

  CHAPTER 12

  The Next Name

  Brooklyn, New York

  All day long Tom tore up carpet, cutting it into small pieces and stuffing those pieces into plastic garbage bags. He thought he’d taken care of this on day one, but then he found a spot of blood, so now everything had to go. Anyplace there’d been blood, he stripped it to the bare floor, had Lisa scrub everything with bleach several times, then, when she finished, he watched as she scrubbed herself. No matter how many times he told her, she never did it enough so he had to do it himself.

  “Stop, Tom. It hurts.”

  “I’ll stop when you’re clean. You need to be clean if you’re going to work tomorrow.” He said it before he realized the implications, then thought about how to ensure she kept quiet. Until now he’d relied on her fear for Buster and herself, but once she got out of the house that fear would fade.

  Lisa cried, probably for the fourth time since lunch. “I don’t know if I can do this. I’ll never be able to go to work.”

  He turned her around and dug the tough bristles of the brush into her ass cheeks. “Your prints are on the hacksaw. Or did you forget?”

  “Why are you doing this? I said I’m sorry a million times already. I just…”

  He threw the brush aside, stood and faced her. “Just what? Got tired of waiting for me? Couldn’t keep your legs closed and wait for your husband?” Tom gritted his teeth. “I should kill you now and get it over with.”

  She stood in the tub, naked, arms wrapped about herself, lips quivering. Tom handed her the brush. “Finish scrubbing. I’m going to get a sandwich. You want one?”

  “Yes, if you don’t mind.”

  He took her phone with him and left the apartment. He went down one flight of stairs then waited. If she took the elevator, he could still beat her down, and if she took the stairs, he’d be there to greet her.

  Ten minutes later Lisa opened the door and crept out, hurrying down the steps. When she reached the third floor, Tom grabbed her. “Going somewhere?”

  She froze. Her hands flew to her mouth to cover it. “I was…I…”

  “Save your breath. Let’s go back upstairs, and if you make a sound…”

  “I won’t.”

  He shoved her into the apartment, then shoved her toward the table in the dining room. “Sit.” He got clothesline from the closet in the hall and tied her to the chair, hands and feet. A dishtowel served as a gag. When he finished he turned her chair to face the wall and whispered. “If this is moved even one inch when I get home, I’ll kill you.”

  She nodded.

  “Good. I might be a while. Do you want me to bring you a sandwich?”

  She shook her head.

  When Tom left this time, he knew there’d be no trouble. He grabbed a burger and fries, and then he took public transportation to Long Island, where Lisa’s mother lived. She was old and lived by herself, and Lisa was her only relative. The old bag had no friends; she was too damn mean for that.

  It only took Tom about an hour to take care of her, one quick stab to the lungs, and then he carried her to the basement and tucked her into a corner behind a stack of box
es. It would be weeks, if not months, before anyone found her.

  Tom cleaned up, grabbed the old woman’s cell phone, and then took the train back to the city. He took his time, walking around town and enjoying the sights. By nine o’clock he was home.

  Lisa sat in the exact position she had been in when he left. She was sitting in piss, and it had leaked to the floor but that was all right. She needed lessons in humility, and cleanliness. She needed lessons in a lot of things. He should get a whipping stick like his daddy had. That’s what he should do.

  Tom untied her and removed the gag. “Clean up your mess then take a bath. And do it right or I’ll do it for you.”

  Half an hour later she came out of the bathroom and into the living room where he was watching television. Lisa knew the routine. She stood in front of him, naked, awaiting inspection. At the commercial break he muted the TV and focused on her. Her skin was red and scratched from the scrubbing, especially around her crotch and her ass.

  “Is it okay?” Lisa asked, her voice tremulous.

  “Turn around.”

  She turned slowly, and when she did, he leaned in and sniffed her. “You did a good job. Now get me some water and join me. This show is funny as hell.”

  “Can I get dressed?”

  Tom thought for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “Panties, that’s all.”

  They watched shows for almost two hours then went to bed. Tom crawled in beside her, snuggling up to her back and letting his hand rub her stomach. She curled up, eased closer to the edge of the bed and pretended to sleep, but he knew what she was doing. Slowly, he pulled her panties down and rubbed her, exciting himself, but not her. Thinking of the other men in her life made him agitated, made him want to hurt someone.

  “I need another name,” he said, and when he did, he yanked some of her pubic hair out.

  She yelped like a scared pup. “There isn’t any—”

  He grabbed her by the throat. “A name, Lisa.”

  She didn’t hesitate this time. “Ben Davidoff,” she said, but then quickly added, “but it was only one time.”

  “Where does he work?”

  “At my building, on the sixth floor.”

  Tom lay silent, which must have worried her. “Tom…you’re not going to do anything there, are you? They have guards in the building. And—”

  He stroked her hair gently, letting his fingers trace down her cheeks. “Not to worry. I wouldn’t do anything to him where you work.” He turned her over, and said, “Spread your legs.”

  Tom finished with her, then lay with his arms wrapped around her. “Don’t even think of running away. You hear me?”

  “I wouldn’t try to run away. You know—”

  “If you try, I’ll kill you.”

  “You don’t have to worry, Tom.”

  “Well, just in case, I went to see your mother today. She—”

  “What?” Lisa jumped up and ran for the phone, fumbled with it, then punched in some numbers. On the third ring she heard a phone ringing in the apartment. It was coming from Tom’s pants, next to the bed.

  Tom reached over and pulled out a small cell phone and said, “Hello, Lisa. This is your mother.” And then he laughed like hell.

  Lisa ran for the door, but Tom grabbed her. He spun her to face him and narrowed his eyes. “I paid your mom a visit today. Don’t worry, she’s all right. For now. But if you mess up, nobody will ever find her.”

  “What do you mean? What did you do?”

  Tom smiled. “I moved her to a safe place, a place only I know about.” He leaned close, narrowed his eyes, and said, “And if you even whisper anything to the cops or anyone else, she’ll rot and go to hell before I tell you where she is.”

  Lisa’s knees buckled. She fell to the floor. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Get in the bed,” he said. “Time you learned a lesson.”

  “Why are you doing this to me? I just—”

  Tom smacked her and then straddled her, his hands in a choke-hold on her neck. “You just what? Fucked half the city? Couldn’t wait for your husband to get home?”

  She tried breaking his grip but he was too strong. “I’m sorry,” she managed to get out, then he released her. “I’m sorry,” she said, through tears.

  “I know you’re sorry.” He got off of her and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling his pants down. “Now get over here and do what you do best. Whore!”

  Lisa took her time, doing everything Tom said. As she pleasured him, Tom thought about Ben Davidoff, and what he’d do to him.

  CHAPTER 13

  The Next Victim

  Brooklyn, New York

  Tom Jackson woke early, went for a two-mile run, then did his daily routine of push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups before settling down to a cup of coffee. He was reading the paper when Lisa came out of the shower. “I need eggs and toast,” he said, without looking up.

  She pulled the towel tighter around herself. “Do you want bacon?”

  “That goes without saying. And hurry up. I have places to go.”

  “Where are you going? I thought I was going to work today.”

  “You are, but that doesn’t mean I can’t go somewhere.” He sipped his coffee and turned the page on the newspaper. “Remember, if I suspect something I’ll kill you first, then Buster, and then I’ll let your mother rot.”

  Lisa nodded. “I won’t say anything.”

  “Good,” he said. “If you see me in the building, don’t even look at me.”

  Her hands shook as she poured her tea. “You’re not going to…do anything, are you?”

  He laughed then continued his meal. Before he left, he gave her instructions on what to do.

  Lisa worked on the fourth floor. At ten o’clock she called Ben Davidoff and arranged to meet him in the cafeteria for lunch. Tom watched from a table nearby, close enough to get a look at Ben and be able to pick him out of the crowd. After lunch he followed Ben upstairs, saw him go into the restroom and then back to work. The way Ben so eagerly agreed to meet Lisa told Tom two things: Ben was pussy-hungry, and Lisa screwed him a lot more than once. She’d pay for that lie.

  For two more days, Tom followed Ben—home at nights, into work in the morning, and back and forth to lunch. The man did everything the same. Took the same routes to and from work, and always went to the restroom after lunch, like clockwork. He was making it easy, almost too easy. All that remained was to determine where Tom wanted to do him. And how he wanted to do it.

  Tom decided to do it at work. Ben seemed to be a proud man. Doing him at work would be the most humiliating. Tom gathered everything he needed—a small stepladder, orange cones, an out-of-order sign, disposable gloves, a baseball cap, sunglasses, and a nice ponytail wig to wear under the hat.

  That day about fifteen minutes before Ben would finish lunch, Tom went to the sixth floor, careful to avoid looking into any of the cameras placed throughout the building. He exited the elevator on the sixth floor, placed the cones at the entrance to the restroom, put the out-of-order sign on the door, then got on the ladder and acted as if he were working on the lights. When Ben turned the corner to the restroom, he stopped cold.

  “Oh,” he said, and started to leave.

  “No, you’re all right,” Tom said. “I was just finishing. Go on in.” He stepped off the ladder and removed the sign from the door.

  Ben smiled and passed by. “Excuse me.”

  Once he was inside, Tom put the sign back up and waited for half a minute, giving Ben enough time to get started. Tom opened the door, saw Ben’s feet under the stall, smiled and drew his gun. Tom went into the stall next to Ben’s, stood on the toilet and leaned over the top.

  “Hello, there,” he said, gun pointing at Ben. “You want to get up and step outside the stall?”

  Panic showed in Ben’s eyes. “What the hell—what is this about? What are you doing?”

  “Step outside the stall, please. And keep your voice down. If you get too loud, I’ll shoot you, an
d then people will come, and I’ll have to shoot them.”

  Ben yanked his pants up, holding them with one hand while he opened the door. “If it’s money you want, I can—”

  Tom laughed. “I don’t want your money, Ben. For God’s sake, I’m not a thief.”

  Ben’s brow furrowed, confusion replacing the panic in his eyes. “What do you want? Do I know you?”

  Tom seemed to give it thought. “You don’t know me, and for now, just hold your hands in front of you. You can let your pants drop. I won’t look.”

  With awkward moves, Ben let go of his pants and held his hands out, trembling. “What are you going to do?”

  “Tie you up so you can’t go for help.”

  More confusion showed in Ben’s eyes as Tom tied his hands, then put a gag in his mouth. Tom punched him hard in the right kidney, dropping Ben to his knees. Then he punched his left kidney, bringing him to all fours. “You thought you could get away with fucking another man’s wife and not get caught?” Tom walked around him in circles, knelt before him and stared into his eyes. “It didn’t work, Ben. I found out, and now you’re going to pay.”

  Ben’s eyes went wide, pleading. His head shook side to side.

  Tom grabbed a fistful of hair and dragged him into the stall, the same one Ben had used. He brought him up to the toilet and shoved his face under the water, pressing on the back of his head with his foot. Ben fought, moving to the side and kicking, but he was easy to restrain. When Tom thought Ben might have had enough, he let the pressure off and Ben came out of the toilet bowl like a submarine breaching the surface at full speed. Desperate breaths came from his nose. He gasped and made funny sounds through his gag. He tried to stand, but Tom put the gun at the back of his head. “Stay still. I won’t hurt you. I’m just having a little fun.”

  Scared rabbit eyes looked up at Tom, filled with pleas of mercy.

  “Did you like eating my wife’s pussy?”

  Ben hesitated, as if wondering what the right answer would be. After a moment of indecision he opted for a shake of the head.

  Tom smiled. “Liar! I’m sure you did. And I understand. When I start, I don’t like to stop.” His hand quivered. He almost pulled the trigger, but instead he breathed deeply, calming himself. “Why don’t we pretend that the shit in that toilet is her pussy. And guess what, I’m going to let you eat all you want.” Tom removed the gag, grabbed Ben by the hair, and shoved him into the tank, then used his foot to hold him down. Ben thrashed and tossed his head about, but Tom held him under the water, looking at his watch as he did. It took almost a full minute for Ben to quit kicking, then a few seconds of inactivity—perhaps while he tried to gather strength—followed by a full-blown breakout attempt. It was pitiful to watch, but pleasant enough revenge. For forty seconds longer, Tom held him under before removing his foot. Ben didn’t move. Dead for sure.