Finally, Sam said, “And how was your relationship with her?”
Bill’s first reaction was to say he loved her and that their relationship was fine. But he checked himself. He remembered her last discussion in bed with him, that she had become afraid, that she couldn’t trust him to keep her safe.
Sam picked up on Bill’s hesitation and ever so slightly arched an eyebrow. He waited for Bill’s answer. To Sam, silence during interrogation was like squeezing water from a mop.
“I…I…we…we had a recent problem. When the boy got shot outside of Dirty Frank’s it frightened her.”
“Why was that a problem? Weren’t you her protector?”
“I certainly felt that way.”
“Felt?”
“You know what I mean. I mean at the time.”
“Mr. Conlon, Bill, would you agree to a polygraph test?”
“Absolutely.”
It was for the record only. Lanza didn’t care about polygraph results. Conlon’s meditative training could beat it. Lanza had seen a hundred guys like him, fight with the girlfriend then hack them up and dump them, maybe along the turnpike, maybe in the river like Thunder Woman.
“What do you know about a food scandal at the prisons?” he asked.
“Mostly what I read in the papers,” Bill said. “When I was at Graterford guys grumbled, but they grumbled about a lot of things.”
“Did you and Jericho ever talk about it?”
“How could we not? The litigation is all over the papers. Detective Lanza, do you suspect me of something?”
Lanza blurted, “Come off it, Conlon. You know damned well we need to interrogate people close to the missing person.”
“Interrogate them about a prisoner lawsuit over food? Louise’s life is in danger. Can we talk about that?”
“I ask the questions here.”
Lanza dropped all pretense of dutiful inquisitor. He just didn’t like this guy, didn’t believe him, and had him down as the likely killer of his girlfriend, maybe that Thunder Woman character too. That could be how it went down, the girlfriend found out about Thunder Woman and he had to get rid of her. When Sam’s radar pinged like this, it was only a matter of time before the right evidence turned up.
Bill crossed his arms and met Lanza’s hot stare with insouciance. But Sam was a pro, had seen it all, and no defrocked motherfucking ex-con would deter him. He had time. These mooks always screwed up somewhere.
“So then,” Bill said, “am I free to leave?”
“Yeah, get out of here,” Sam said.
By sunrise Bill was on Cuthbert Street waiting for a ServMark limo, which may or may not deposit president Gary Bigelow at the innocuous metal door next to the loading dock. Crystal Lewis had confirmed Bigelow was in the city and expected in, but wasn’t able to glean how he got in and out of the building other than the private elevator which opened directly into his office. This was Bill’s third day parked on Cuthbert. He hoped he didn’t have to be there again until 6:00 or 7:00 p.m. with no results. Each passing day was additional horror for Louise in the hands of that degenerate, Eddie Matthews.
As 8:00 a.m. came around, a squad car pulled up behind Bill. Move along, he was told, no standing on this street except loading and unloading.
“I’m waiting for somebody to bring down a computer,” he said.
No dice. Without a commercial tag he couldn’t be there.
He pulled out of the street and found parking on Arch near Chinatown. He put the note intended for Bigelow in his pocket and returned on foot to Cuthbert, where he leaned against a dumpster and watched the steel door. By 6:30 p.m. he was starving and exhausted, ready to call off his surveillance when a white Mercedes limousine pulled up. Why at the end of the day? It must have discharged its occupant that morning, after Bill was hustled off the street.
A handsome gray-haired man, about six-two with a long, slim Lancero cigar poised against the fingertips of his left hand, emerged through the metal door and headed toward the limo.
“Mr. Bigelow!” Bill shouted.
The man looked up and hesitated. As Bill walked toward him and passed the front door of the limo, its door swung open forcefully enough to knock him down. A burly man in a driver’s uniform got out, picked him up by the scruff of his collar, and put Bill in a chokehold.
“Whoa!” he gasped. “I only wanted to pass a note to Mr. Bigelow.”
Bigelow signaled for his man to let up. “Is this a subpoena?” he asked. “Our general counsel will accept service, thirty-fourth floor.”
“No,” Bill said, still gurgling from the driver’s grip, “but it’s a matter of grave importance to you and your firm.”
Bigelow nodded to his driver/bodyguard, who accepted the note and passed it to him.
“You’ll want to reach me,” Bill said. “My number is in there.”
Bigelow slipped the note into his inside breast pocket and ducked into the car.
The limo pulled away. Bill was unsure if Bigelow would read it. At least now he knew how to make contact. It was also time to keep a pistol tucked into his waistband. It was a big risk to be caught strapped, especially by that hostile Lanza, God only knew where that might lead, but with thugs like Luca’s henchmen around, there was no room for anybody getting in Bill’s way.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
When Bill got back to the house he sensed immediately something was wrong. A hall closet door was ajar; hangers littered the floor. He tiptoed up to the bedroom. Some of Louise’s belongings were strewn about. The closet and dresser drawers had been ransacked.
He went back downstairs and examined the windows, locked, no broken glass. He checked the back door. Locked. He went upstairs again and studied the open dresser drawers and closet. Louise’s underthings, tops, some of her favorite costume jewelry and a pair of boots she loved were gone. She must have been there and taken them, or would Eddie have used her key? No signs of forced entry. The missing things looked deliberately chosen. She must have been there too.
This was new. Maybe Eddie intended to keep her for a while and made her get some of her things. Worse, maybe that’s what she wanted to do. If it was Eddie’s doing, why? Because he intended to take her somewhere where she needed to be dressed? Or maybe it was to keep her pacified, as a prisoner she would cope better with her own things. Yeah, that’s it. Yet, that it may have been her own choice haunted Bill.
At ten-thirty p.m. he stared at the phone as if his gaze would make it ring. Eddie had said ten. When it rang Bill grabbed the receiver before it completed its first ring.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Yo, priest, it’s me, Eddie.”
“I know who you are.”
“You got something for me?”
“We need to meet,” Bill said.
“Why would that be?”
“I want to see Louise. She better be okay.”
“Can’t do that. I’ll take a picture though. But you don’t get shit until you got something for me.”
“I made a contact.”
“Is that all? Who is it?”
“Can’t tell you that. You’re going to have to do this through me.”
There was silence on the other end. Not being in control must be agita for Eddie. He was probably thinking it through, maybe thinking how he could squeeze Louise more to correct the balance. That would be a bad result. Bill’s own wheels were turning. His strategy might backfire.
Eddie said, “I want the guy’s name.”
“What do you care about the name? It’s all about the money, isn’t it?”
“You got that right.”
“Let’s meet,” Bill said. “Let’s meet at the Oak Lane Diner.”
“We’ll meet at the Melrose. Tomorrow, lunchtime,” Eddie said.
Bill agreed.
“Here’s what I’m going to do,” Eddie said. “I’ll take a picture of that sweet, limpy, piece o’ ass holding a newspaper with the headlines on it. You’ll see she’s okay. But between you and I, sh
e’s better than okay, unnerstan’ what I mean?”
“Let’s be clear, you little shit.” I got something you need. Access to the post office box where your blackmail will be delivered. If you fuck around with her, not only can you kiss your retirement goodbye, you can kiss your ass goodbye. Got it?”
He slammed down the phone.
Eddie thought Louise was finally coming to her senses. She spoke to him more softly and was compliant when it was time to lock her in the closet. To Eddie, taking her to her house for some of her things helped her see what a good guy he was. When they got back the first thing she wanted to do was clean herself up and put on makeup. He liked her soft touch with it, brown mascara, eyeliner lightly applied, and almost pink lipstick. She didn’t paint herself like some kind of Kensington whore. It made her not only easier on the eyes, but to Eddie, validated him as a regular guy and not some criminal ogre who couldn’t get a regular woman.
He began letting her out of the closet for longer periods, letting her walk around, watch TV with him. He bought magazines she requested and told her more of his story. She listened attentively and seemingly with sympathy. She talked about herself too, about her roller derby career and stint at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts. He bought her a sketch pad and was transfixed by the likenesses she drew of him.
He predicted it all along, to know him was to love him. And now she should be ready to have real sex with him and not just watch while he jerked off.
“I could have just taken you,” he said, leaving out that he tried while she had been unconscious but couldn’t do it, “but I wanted you should wanna do it with me first.”
She made no response, instead looking down.
He grabbed her wrist forcefully. “Do you unnerstand?”
She looked frightened. “Would you like to do it now?” she asked.
“Hell yes, woman.”
“Do you have something to put on? I don’t want to get pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s do it.”
She walked over and sat on the bed, unbuttoned her blouse, and undid her bra. She lay down and lifted her hips to wriggle out of her jeans and panties and kicked them off. She looked at him and patted the bed next to her. “You have a broken spring,” she said, “cover it over with something. It hurts.”
After covering the spring, he was ready. He mounted her and pumped away. He noticed she made no noises, but also noticed she had one arm around his neck and the other in the small of his back. He was done in a minute.
He collapsed next to her. “Boy, that was great,” he said. “We have to do it again, soon. But now I have to leave which means you gotta go back into the closet.”
She got up, put on her clothes, and held out her wrists for him to attach the constraints.
“We will, Eddie. You just let me know when you’re ready.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Gary Bigelow oozed charisma, an important quality for running a corporation as big as a small country, with tentacles reaching to Europe and Asia. He was jocular when he called Bill to set up a meeting—as if he was setting up doubles for tennis rather than exploring alleged felonies that if proven, would likely reduce his company’s market cap by a quarter, cost his job, or put him in the slammer. Bid rigging was a federal offense.
His expansiveness extended to brunch at the Union League, where he regaled Bill with tales of dealings with world business and political leaders. He peppered the stories with humorous anecdotes as other Philadelphia movers and shakers interrupted to shake hands or whisper something in his ear. Bill saw the whole spectacle, including the choice of venue, as Bigelow’s negotiations power play: I’m important and you’re not.
As the dining room emptied during digestifs, Bigelow finally said, “Why the fuck are we here?”
Bill told him that an acquaintance claimed to have proof that ServMark rigged its bid for PA’s Department of Corrections business.
“So you’re trying to shake me down. I should have you arrested.”
“Well,” Bill said, “it’s not me, I’m only brokering the deal, and it will be hard to have me arrested without a crime.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Bigelow said. “I can have you arrested, jailed, and transferred around so many times your fingerprints won’t find you.”
It struck Bill as ironic that this captain of industry whose fortunes lay in the hands of a patricidal maniac like Eddie Matthews, would get hostile in the face of proffered evidence. Bill had his suspicions about big business, but was more certain about matters of conscience. The crooked bid, like most sins, probably arose from some vulnerability, one personal to the CEO. Was it the need to defeat a competitor? Boost share value? Insider trading? And it was probably easy. Maybe everybody in his business did it. Nor were there any apparent victims, at least not from the perch Bigelow occupied, and possibilities as endless as Lucifer’s imagination. Either way, Bigelow’s soft underbelly was exposed, and in yet another irony, his corporate hanky-panky was the key to Louise’s freedom. Maybe her life.
“Perhaps. But that won’t solve your problem, will it?” Bill said.
“What is this so-called proof?” Bigelow asked.
“My principal won’t say at this point.”
“Is this a joke?”
“Here’s the deal for now, Mr. Bigelow. Only you and my principal know if that bid was rigged. He says it was and he has proof. If you know otherwise and can document it, we’ll never meet again.”
“I need to explore this internally,” Bigelow said. “We’ll go from there. Meanwhile, thank you for joining me for brunch.”
Explore internally. Sure. See if their asses are covered. Bill suspected ServMark did business like every other multi-national. Bribery, extortion, State Department shenanigans, any strategy to bring in revenue. It would be part of their culture. Perhaps the Department of Corrections account was handled many levels below Bigelow’s, it was possible he didn’t know about it. Then again, it was his job to know.
Yet, that could be a problem. Suppose Bigelow did his internal investigation, identified the highest person responsible, then shit-canned him in a paroxysm of sanctimonious due- diligence? Supposing there was some public relations advantage to doing just that? Get out in front of the scandal, own up to it, take corrective action. Where would that leave Eddie? Worse, where would it leave Louise?
Yet he felt good about his meeting. Bill believed Eddie really had something, and the fact that Bigelow was willing to meet up suggested the situation struck a nerve. There was little doubt in Bill’s mind that following their meeting, the CEO would have him investigated. As a convicted felon, the last thing he needed was an accusation of an extortion cabal. If Eddie really had the goods, the blackmail money would flow and Bill wouldn’t worry. But if Eddie was bullshitting or his proof was cockamamie, Bill would be gray before he ever saw the outside again.
Those things crossed his mind, yet he had little choice but to save Louise. Then he could get rid of that goddam Eddie. In any event, Eddie still stood between him and salvation.
As Bill walked up the steps of the Melrose Diner, he heard “Pssst. Priest. Here,” and turned to see Eddie skulking behind a parked Buick.
“What are you doing there, Eddie? Let’s go in.”
“I don’t like this idea,” Eddie said, “let’s go someplace else. My car is on Snyder at Sixteenth. It’s a beige Toyota. Meet me there in ten minutes.”
As long as it kept Louise alive, Bill would play this cat-mouse game.
When he got to the Toyota, Eddie stuck a gun in his ribs and said, “You carrying?”
“No.” Bill had stashed his piece under a curbside recycling bin down the block.
Eddie frisked him, keeping his pistol under Bill’s chin. They got into the car.
“Reach in back, on the back seat,” Eddie said. “Grab the envelope and open it.”
Bill opened a nine by twelve envelope and slid out a photograph of Louise, bare-chested but smiling a
nd holding a copy of Philadelphia Inquirer in front of her breasts. The headline read, John Major to PM.
Bill turned crimson. He flinched toward Eddie but the nose of Eddie’s .38 found its way between Bill’s ribs. “What are you doing to her, you fuck?”
“Settle down, priest. She’s alive, ain’t she? Ain’t that what you wanted?”
He leaned back again. “I’m going to get you what you want, Eddie, and then you and I will have other scores to settle.”
“Yeah, I can hardly wait. I gave you the news you asked for, so now where’s the news I asked for?”
“I got the right guy. He doesn’t believe you have any evidence. He’s checking with his people. He probably wants to find out who’s responsible for letting the cat out of the bag.”
“I have it okay. I’ll send you a copy of one of the documents. I’ll mail it to Louisey’s house. It’ll speak for itself.”
“Were you there? Were you in her house?” Bill asked.
“I’m treating her nice, real nice. You get my drift?”
“If you touch her I’ll…”
“You’ll what? You’ll what, bigshot? You’ll do what the fuck you’re told. You ain’t in control of nothing.”
“Look, you little shit, I’m in control of the money. Don’t you forget it.”
“So okay,” Eddie said, “so then let’s be partners. But that means you stay outta my face about the girl. She’s real healthy.”
“Yeah, but…”
“No buts. She’s alive. She doesn’t have to stay that way, see what I’m sayin’?”
Bill took the photograph, got out, and leaned into the window. “Mail me that document. We’ll go from there.”
I Detest All My Sins Page 13