He put on a nondescript gray hooded sweatshirt and arrived an hour early behind ServMark’s HQ on Cuthbert Street. He hoped to find Bigelow’s limo waiting and a chance to chat up the driver, learn what he could of Bigelow’s comings and goings. But instead of Bigelow’s stretch limo, a red Cadillac De Ville was parked in front of the door. Where did he know a red Caddy from? Sure, blocking the street in front of Club Spaciad in South Philly. He walked closer. No one was in it, but the vanity plate LUCA CAD served as warning to South Philly punks who boosted luxury cars for the nouveau riche of Slovenia or Russia.
Bill peered around a dumpster every few minutes to see if Luca came out the door. After ten minutes, the limo pulled up nose-to-nose with the Caddy. Funny, no cops came around to hassle them off the street like they had Bill. Five minutes later, Luca emerged from the door and leaned into the limo on the driver’s side. Bill heard laughter. He stayed hidden until the Caddy’s engine fired up and rolled toward the dumpster. As it went slowly by, he turned to face the wall as if taking a pee. When it turned off Cuthbert he waited ten minutes and walked up to the limo.
“Remember me?” he said to the driver.
The driver got out. “I gotta pat you down. Arms up.”
Bill was clean.
“Get in the car. Mr. Bigelow will be here in a few minutes. He wants to talk to you.”
Bill eyed the conveniences inside the limo, a bar, television, phone, pillows, and control panel with a button that said “Bed.”
“Wow,” he said to the driver. “I’ll bet this car has seen more pussy than the Playboy mansion. Yo, my name is Bill.”
The driver gave him a sly smile. “Willie,” he said. “Yeah, Mr. Bigelow knows how to have fun.” Was Luca furnishing hookers to the big-time CEO?
“If you don’t mind my askin’, you ever get any leftovers, you know, sloppy seconds?” Bill asked.
“Not the kind of women Mr. Bigelow dates. I’m only the help.”
“Have we met before, Willie? You look familiar. Ever do time at Graterford?”
“No, at West Penn. You?”
“Yeah. Got out not too long ago. Ever know an Eddie Matthews? He caught a stretch at West Penn. They call him Deadly Eddie.”
“Deadly Eddie! My man!” Willie said with a grin. “He was on my block for about six months. He still around?”
“Around and raisin’ hell,” Bill said. “He’s part of the reason I need to be in touch with your boss. I’ll have to tell you about it some time.”
The door opened. Bigelow slid onto the bench seat across from Bill.
“Well?” he said.
Bill pulled Eddie’s envelope out of his pocket and handed it to him. Bigelow put on glasses and read the cover letter.
“Where did you get this?” he said.
“I told you, my principal.”
“Well, tell your principal it doesn’t amount to shit.”
“He says he has more like it,” Bill said.
“He could have gotten them from a dumpster.”
“Sorry Mr. Bigelow. He also has a note over the signature of one of your executives.”
Bigelow took off his glasses. “Did he find that in a dumpster too?”
Bill looked at his watch. “I need to leave,” he said. “You know how to reach me. Nice talkin’ to you, Willie.”
Bill paced the floor waiting for the promised follow-up call from Eddie. Eddie wasn’t going to like Bigelow’s dismissiveness. He could go off.
When Bill took the call, Eddie sounded like he did when his jaw had been broken, speaking through gritted teeth. Bill wound the phone cord around a finger as he laid the news on Eddie.
“He didn’t buy your evidence.” He waited for Eddie to explode.
Surprisingly, Eddie was in a businesslike mode. “He’s already negotiating,” he said.
“Tell him this. He’s got three days to come up with one million bucks or I go to the Daily News. His outfit probably loses a mil a day from rounding errors.”
“Let me talk to Louise. Put her on the phone,” Bill said, afraid his voice carried more pleading than authority.
“Hey doll,” Bill heard him say, “it’s the priest. He wants to know if you’re dead yet. Are you?”
“No, Eddie, I’m not dead. Tell him.”
Bill’s chest thumped at hearing her. He put a hand over his heart and slowly lowered his eyelids in gratitude. She sounded okay. Too okay.
“Let me talk to her.”
“Do you want to talk to him?” he heard Eddie ask.
“No,” he heard her say. That fucking Eddie must have a gun to her head.
“Let me work on this, Eddie,” Bill said. “Don’t let anything happen to her. If anything happens to her I’ll hunt you down and…”
“Nothing will happen to her unless you don’t come through. Same time in three days.
You better have good news.” He hung up.
Eddie might be right. Bigelow’s nonchalance might only be negotiating. The evidence was strong. ServMark would be splashed all over the papers. The Department of Corrections would be very unhappy, to speak nothing of ServMark’s other clients. But how could Bill get word to Bigelow?
He called Jericho for advice. He told him about seeing Luca’s car at the ServMark alley entrance.
“You don’t wait for Bigelow,” Jericho said. “We’ll go to Luca Cunnio. He’ll get to
Bigelow. Luca must be involved in this, going back to Graterford, or before. And Eddie’s got a piece of it too. I just can’t figure out all the connections.”
“Are you kidding? Luca’s people tried to kidnap us, God only knows for what reason.
Remember?”
“Yeah, and they wanted Eddie too. I don’t know why, but here’s what I know. You are a broker on behalf of a guy who could take ServMark down and shake up the Department of Corrections. No you, no escape valve for Bigelow. Luca and him have something going. Looks like a circular firing squad and nobody wants to pull the trigger first.”
The DOC, Luca and his people, Bigelow, and now Eddie. They had all intersected at Mikey Osborne. And the shit rolled downhill onto Bill and Jericho and now, Louise.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Angie and Paulie told Lanza they wouldn’t come to the Roundhouse without lawyers, but said they’d talk to him privately. Sam agreed to keep it casual, meet them off site.
Lanza had bigger fish than the dead twink to fry, tragic though that was. In assessing his career he always thought his flexibility was a gift, maybe why he never made lieutenant. It must have looked to the higher-ups like a disregard for rules. After all, rules were what cops were about. Weren’t they in the law and order business? Rules became rules because they served their ends most often over time. But sometimes they didn’t, and when they didn’t, Sam had no fear of plowing new ground to sprout the same ends.
It was clear either Angie or Paulie shot the twink. Inevitably, each would point a finger at the other even though some witnesses put the gun in Paulie’s hand. To Sam, Angie and Paulie were like the Off Brothers—Jack and Fuck, so the twink case would still be there after he found out how the rest of it fit in, namely, the food thing. Sam met them at Queen Pizza on Stenton Avenue, far from the spider eyes and elephant ears of South Philly.
“Look,” he said, “I’m only checking stuff out for now. I’m mostly interested in Eddie Matthews.”
Yes, Angie and Paulie acknowledged in unison, they knew of Eddie. He tried to get a job from Luca, they said. He did time, didn’t he? Had a real nasty reputation, too. And wasn’t he there when the kid got shot outside Dirty Frank’s? No, they didn’t see him actually pull the trigger, but who else could it have been?
“Some of the witnesses seem to think that too,” Sam lied. “I might also have him for a killing at Graterford. You guys hear anything about that?”
“Only that he claimed to know about some scandal,” Angie said.
“What scandal? Help me here. I can have short arms—if you get my drift.”
“I wouldn’t know nothing more,” Paulie said.
“Yeah, me neither,” piped in Angie.
They didn’t get the drift.
“What were you guys doing outside of Dirty Frank’s that night?”
“We was headed down from Broad to Delaware Avenue to hit some clubs,” Angie said.
“We was going down Pine. We saw Eddie and some guys talking on the corner. We stopped to say hello.”
“Then what happened?”
“We said our hellos and went back to our vehicle. Then we heard a shot. So we got out of there. You know how it is Detective Lanza,” Paulie said.
Angie bobbed yes the whole time. He reminded Sam of John Candy without the sweet disposition.
“So this food thing,” Sam said, “what’s up with that?”
Paulie held up both hands, as if saying whoa. “Now we wouldn’t know anything about that.”
Sam looked each of them in the eye and cocked his head. “You better give me something or I’ll bust both your asses for killing the twink. I can have four blue and whites here in five minutes.”
“C’mon Sam, alls we know is that the big food company, I forget their name, sells food and other stuff to the prisons…”
“And why would you jerks even be talking or thinking about prison catering? Give it to me straight, would Luca have a finger in that pie?”
“Well, if he did,” Paulie interjected, “you wouldn’ta heard it from us, right Angie?”
“How could we even say anything we didn’t know nothing about?” Angie asked.
Sam stood. The two men looked up at him. “We aren’t done talking, but know this, depending how I write things up will govern whether you two clowns go down for Murder Two or Involuntary. Think about it and think about whether you want to help me out more about this food thing. Oh yeah, and thanks for the slice.”
Next time he would arrest these two dopes. They might be afraid to talk, but their lawyers would be eager to make a deal. Everybody has a plan until they get hit in the face.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Eddie hit the ceiling after ringing off from the priest. How could he have been so stupid? It looked now like Conlon was playing games, telling Eddie that the food outfit had no interest in the deal, when all along Eddie knew what it would mean to them, and knew it would be worth a lot.
He went to the closet where Louise was asleep.
He grabbed a handful of hair, yanked her up and said, “Get up, bitch.”
She instinctively reached up to grab at his hands, but the chain was too short. She screamed. “Undo me! Undo me, I’ll get up!”
Eddie unlocked the cuffs and pulled her by the arm to the center of the room. As she rubbed her wrists bruised from the chain, he backhanded the side of her head, sending her reeling across the room where she smashed against the wall and collapsed in a heap. He picked her upright by the throat and punched her in the stomach with the full force of his weight, causing her to double over and gasp for air.
“What did you say about me, you fucking bitch?” he yelled. “What did you ever tell him about me? What does he know?” He kicked her chest, causing her arms to move up protectively.
“Why are you doing this?” she screamed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
A good beating, that’s what she needed. Over the next hour he would let her gather herself, calm down, then hit her again. He punched her in the face three times. He wanted her lips to swell and eyes to blacken. By now she had quit screaming, but would let out a steady moan with weeping punctuating each blow. He tore off her clothes, ripped them to shreds, then got his Polaroid camera. “Look up!” he said. “Look at me you cunt or I’ll slice your throat.”
He snapped pictures of her face distorted by swollen lips, puffed cheekbones and slitted eyelids red from the blows. He took another with her head hung low in abject defeat and submission. She crumpled to the floor and curled up as he brought down a chopping forearm between her neck and shoulder.
“That’s good. That’s a good shot,” he said, and took a picture of her lying in a fetal position, covering her head. He yanked her up by her arm and locked her in the closet.
The priest. He needed to learn how to be more helpful. He had been no help to Mikey Osborne and the pictures would reveal he was no help to Louise. It was time to help Eddie. Simple as that.
He was tiring of her. Even sex was no fun. Sure, she let him do it, but it was like, well, she didn’t fuck back. Nor could she cook worth a damn. What was she good for? She was getting a crush on him. She didn’t even object to being locked up anymore. But she was boring. All she wanted to talk about was stuff she read.
He left a voicemail on Bill’s phone, “I’m putting pitchers through the mail slot. You’ll wanna look real close at ’em. You don’t wanna know what’s next.”
Before long this would all be over. After he got his money, he’d find a new babe. It would be easy then. This one was all used up. Besides, she was a witness.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
The tip of the barrel of the Smith and Wesson .357 Mag behind his right hip dug into Bill’s skin. He kept reaching back to feel it, make sure it wasn’t riding out of his waistband. Contrary to what Jericho had suggested, that they knock on the door of Spaciad and ask for Luca, Bill had his own plan, and wanted no part of going to the door.
“We’ll do the snatching,” Bill had said. “He’s more apt to listen with my gun at his temple.”
They sat in Jericho’s gray Expedition. He had finally refused to pretend Henrietta’s murder didn’t happen, so didn’t trade it in. He had reclaimed his feelings.
With their windows down they could hear the voices of South Philly residents laughing and shouting at neighbors from their little porches, people grateful for Thanksgiving turkeys and Christmas hams, L&I waivers for roof-deck variances, fixed parking tickets and softball tee-shirts, all courtesy of nearby Club Spaciad. Any fuss outside the club might cause neighborhood wannabes and vassals to circle and become a problem.
Bill anxiously awaited dusk to cloak his unheard-of gambit to kidnap Philadelphia’s most highly feared mob miscreant. There was no guarantee Luca would be at the club this evening, and if he was, that he would present the opportunity to grab him and get him into the back seat of Jericho’s SUV. There, Bill would bend the mobster’s ear with the barrel of a gun.
Jericho was easy to identify, but there was no reason to believe Luca knew what Bill looked like. After tonight, that would change.
Bill and Jericho surveyed street traffic from John’s Water Ice. Luca’s red Cadillac would likely come the best route from where he lived. When it didn’t, they moved closer to the club and parked. If Luca couldn’t find a space, he’d leave his car parked in the middle of the street in front of the club. Either way, Bill and Jericho were positioned to seize the moment and the gangster.
Shortly after nightfall, when neighbors went inside for the dinner hour, the red Caddy cruised by and pulled up next to a fire hydrant in front of the club. Bill got out of Jericho’s vehicle and looked up and down the street, hanging back and waiting for Luca to emerge from the Caddy. Its passenger door popped open, but a different man got out. He went into the club as the Caddy took off again. Bill looked at Jericho through the windshield and threw his hands up in a questioning gesture. Jericho put his own hand up as if to say wait, let’s see what happens.
Bill leaned against Jericho’s car and continued watching the street. After ten minutes, the red Cadillac came by again and parked at the fire hydrant. Bill reached to the back of his waistband and rested his hand on the butt of the gun. When the Caddy’s driver door opened, Luca got out carrying four pizzas. He kicked his door closed with a foot. Before he reached the club’s steps, Bill came up behind him.
“I’m holding a pistol under my shirt, come with me.”
“What is this?” Luca said. “Do you know who I am? Are you insane?”
“We need to talk. Your life is not in danger unless you
try something stupid, in which case this magnum deletes everything above your ears.”
“Where do we go?”
“Bring the pizza. Walk up Seventh to a gray Ford Expedition. Stop there. I’ll get in the back with you. Be smart. We should be done before your pizza gets cold.”
“What’s this about?” Luca asked as they walked up Seventh.
“You’ll find out.”
The rear passenger door of Jericho’s car opened and its windows purred shut as the two men approached. Luca slid into the back seat and Bill next to him. Bill held the pistol on his captive.
“I know you,” Luca said, nodding to Jericho behind the wheel. “You’re the warden from Graterford.”
“Deputy warden. Ex-Deputy warden. Anybody ever say you look like Benicio del Toro?” Jericho said.
Luca nodded toward Bill. “You must be the priest.”
“I’m not a priest,” Bill said. “I was never a priest.”
“Whatever. So you guys want to tell me why you’re taking your lives in your own hands? You put a gun on me? Me!” he shouted.
Jericho wrestled his long legs over to the front passenger side and pointed a .45 at the hoodlum. “No,” he said, “you’re mistaken. We got two guns on you. Now shut the fuck up and listen.”
Luca leaned back and slouched. Bill guessed this wasn’t the first time Luca had a gun in his face. Luca would know how to keep his mouth shut. He likely dealt with cops and gangsters all his life. Bill had seen the organized crime types in prison, bosses had money enough to pay bodyguards, get favors, do easy time. Ones lower on the totem pole didn’t. They had to make their way like all the other cheap thugs they were locked up with.
“I need you to tell somebody something,” Bill said.
“If you wanna send a message, call Western Union,” Luca said, and feigned a yawn.
After a pause, Bill said, “Then you don’t mind if ServMark goes down and Gary Bigelow sucks you down the maelstrom?” He looked for a tell in Luca’s face or body.
I Detest All My Sins Page 15