Talking about Jericho’s problems gave Bill respite from his own. Jericho’s gigantic size and strength, incongruously coupled with a mellow demeanor and compassion, even for hardened criminals, always reminded Bill of a mighty blue whale stranded on a forlorn beach
“I had to finalize the divorce. It’s part of why I took this job,” Jericho said. “Sam Lanza had interviewed Crystal, re-established contact with her. He was sniffing around like a dog at a fire hydrant. He wouldn’t have hesitated to drag me into some bullshit theory of his or use Crystal to pin something on me. Or for that matter, used me to pin something on you.”
“He’s dangerous,” Bill said.
“You bet he is. And he can’t be trusted. He’ll plant evidence to score a collar.”
The statement gave Bill a twinge. He had given the detective Thunder Woman’s two press-on fingernails.
“He always envied me a little,” Jericho said. “Not when we were beat cops together, but after I went to night school to get my law degree. It started around then.”
“He told me he was nobody to fuck with,” Bill said.
“He’s not. Look out for him. You play close to the edge.”
Closer than Bill cared to admit. He never told Jericho about the guilt he dragged around, pulling it like a crippled horse plowing a parched homestead. He didn’t want to tell his friend about Louise’s new loyalties or recruiting Luca Cunnio to help locate Eddie.
“So tell me more about your new job,” Bill said.
Jericho went on about it. His excitement showed. It was encouraging to Bill, that out of danger and ignominy a new life could happen, and out of misery, redemption was possible. Sometimes that feeling eluded him.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
My, my, my, Sam Lanza thought. Now why would Conlon meet with Luca Cunnio? Whatever reason, it was no surprise. Sam’s expectations were honed from years of busting bad guys, and his attitudes hardened to tungsten from being so right so often. The resulting assurance allowed for flexibility about smaller matters like his wife’s affairs or the way pain pills routinely disappeared from the medicine chest. Order at home would ultimately correct itself if Pattie kept putting on weight and men found her less attractive, or the prescription for the pills would finally lapse. But order in the street was different. There, a never-ending queue of evil people would corrupt everybody and everything, but for angels like Sam Lanza, dystopia was always around the corner.
And now add two more reasons to hound Conlon—the Thunder Woman homicide and the missing Dirty Frank’s barmaid who was, or at least used to be, his girlfriend. But despite being a one-man crime wave, there still wasn’t enough evidence to arrest him for anything.
Lanza could live with it for now because he had another instinct: Conlon was a serial miscreant and hanging with Luca Cunnio elevated him to the penthouse of trouble. Luca and his people didn’t mess around stealing hubcaps or selling dope, they were into slick and ongoing entrepreneurial ventures like boiler-room stock fraud operations and boardroom takeovers that left small companies desiccated before moving on.
Lanza’s beat was Homicide, but if it led to a bust of Luca Cunnio, so much the better. He and the whole PPD were tired of feds co-opting organized crime work—as if the mob didn’t also murder people! Nor was it about turf. It was that the feds were so fucking arrogant. Likewise Imhoff, the Deputy in the General Counsel’s Office who told him to stay away from the ServMark food thing and threatened him, commanded him, not to do his job. They are all so busy watching the big picture they forget to notice that roaches and rats overrun the town while guys like Sam Lanza led the extermination brigade. In short, fuck ’em. This thing was just too hot. Lanza would go wherever necessary to rid the streets of the priest and all he represented. That’s what Sam did best. He took risk in the name of law and order, especially order, and no matter what was required, he’d find a way.
His dilemma for now was who to tail, the priest or Luca? He decided on Luca. Luca was a leader. The priest was liable to run around in circles, but Luca would be the first rodent to sniff out the cheese. And what did they have in common? Not Jericho, not the barmaid, not Dirty Frank’s, but Deadly Eddie Matthews, plus Luca’s red Cadillac stood out like a bonobo’s dick. It would be easy for Lanza’s men to keep tabs on it. They’d bring Lanza into it when things got promising.
It didn’t take long.
“Sam,” Lester radioed, “I don’t know what’s shaking, but Luca is here on Cuthbert Street behind the ServMark Building. He and another guy got into a big limousine. I did a make. It’s a ServMark car, must belong to a big cheese.”
Cheese. Sam had been right. Again.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Bill, Luca, and ServMark CEO Gary Bigelow met at the Penn Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology on the campus of the University of Pennsylvania.
“I thought we had an understanding,” Bigelow said to Luca.
“This is separate from our other matter,” Luca said. “I ain’t telling you how much to pay, but I know Eddie Matthews. That fucker will immolate himself right in your lobby if he thought it could drag you and your company down. We can’t afford for that to happen.”
“Are you going to take a piece of this, too?” Bigelow said to him.
“I’m here to keep things moving along.”
“Like a fixer, is that it?” Bigelow said.
“I’m tellin’ you what’s good for all of us,” Luca said.
Bill chimed in. “You’ve been offering peanuts, Bigelow. You need to get serious.”
“You talked to your man?” Bigelow asked Bill.
“Yeah. He’s done negotiating. You either pay a million or he dumps your documents to the Daily News.”
Luca didn’t take his eyes off the dapper CEO, who hadn’t moved a muscle or varied his tone. They had obviously done business before, but now Bigelow was acting guarded in front of the capo, or maybe it was fear. The arrogance that Bigelow showed in his dealings with Bill was gone. Now Bigelow’s eyes darted around as he shifted his weight in his chair and crossed and uncrossed his legs under Luca’s steady gaze.
“You have to understand. I can pay this guy all kinds of money and still never be sure I have the documents. How would I know he won’t come back again.”
“Bigelow,” Luca said, “pay the fucking money.”
“I’ll need a week to get it together,” Bigelow said, “I have to slide some things around.”
“Call me when it’s ready,” Luca said.
He stood. The meeting was over. Bill followed Luca out the door.
“Where do you know Bigelow from?” Bill asked as they got into the red Cadillac.
“None of your fucking business,” Luca said. “Our job now is to find Eddie.”
Bill twisted his shoulders to face Luca behind the wheel. “When I get the money from Bigelow I’ll pass it to Eddie,” he said.
“You’ll do what I tell you,” Luca said.
“Don’t be a tough-guy,” Bill said. “We need to get the docs. He trusts me.”
Luca appeared to ponder the notion. “Maybe you’re right. I guess we’re partners,” he said, stopping at the foot of the too-short South Street ramp onto the Schuylkill Expressway.
“Why don’t you take Twenty-Ninth Street, it’s a better on-ramp.” Bill asked.
“It’s easier to keep track of tails this way.”
“Where do we start to find Eddie?” Bill asked.
“We been looking for him for weeks now,” Luca said. “No luck. He could be anywhere.”
“I have a hunch he’s in South Philly,” Bill said. “One time we met at the Melrose, another time at the Spaghetti Warehouse. He’s in this part of town somewhere.”
“If he’s in South Philly, we’ll find him. I’ll have my boys put out a bulletin on the mamma mia network.”
“Which is…?”
“All our aunts and uncles and cousins. We’re all over the fucking place.”
And though Jericho’s connection
to PDP was stymied by Sam Lanza, his connections to other law enforcement and investigative agencies in the five-county area would augment Luca’s network. Meanwhile, Bill would try to draw Eddie out, maybe pick up a clue as to where he was keeping Louise.
Bill dropped a bag filled with Wawa meatball subs onto Jericho’s desk. He pulled his chair up to the desk and took half of one for himself while his friend tore the bag open and eyed the remaining sandwiches like a salivating Cyclops.
Bill updated his friend with news as the two men spoke in voices muffled and garbled by meatballs and Amoroso rolls.
“Remember you told me about your contact in the DOC food lawsuit?” Bill said.
“Yeah, Dupree Williams, general counsel to the Pennsylvania Convict Association. Why?”
“How is it coming?”
“Slowly. I haven’t even been deposed yet.”
“Luca intimidates Bigelow. He practically commanded him to pay Eddie a cool million and he agreed.”
“I wonder if it has anything to do with what I read in the Wall Street Journal. Some big French outfit is trying to buy ServMark.”
“What’s your theory?” Bill asked.
“Two theories. First, if you intend to marry somebody, it’s not good to find out their family is full of wise guys. Second, maybe there are wise guys pushing the deal in France, and they all intend to live happily ever after.”
“Does your friend Dupree know any of this?”
You want me to check with Dupree? I’ll get him on speaker right now.”
Bill indicated yes. Jericho scanned his directory and punched out a number to Williams’ direct line. The attorney picked up on the second ring. They exchanged pleasantries over Jericho’s new gig.
“By the way,” Jericho said, “you’re deposing me aren’t you, Pree? I’ve been waiting for it.”
“Not right away. We’re not after you, you know that. I’m trying to notice the CEO dep, but he’s resisting. Hold on a sec…”
There were muffled voices on Dupree’s end. He came back on. “He wants to send a marketing guy. We’ve filed motions. After every motion the CEO ups his offer to settle with the DOC. All that’ll do is buy cushier offices for the DOC Administration.”
“So what are you shooting for? Bring it all to light?” Jericho asked.
“Yep. I’m in the turning-over-the-rock business.”
“Listen, Pree, we always had a good relationship, didn’t we?”
“You always did what you could for us.”
“Well, this is off the record, but in my new job here I’m checking out a problem that involves mob ties. I can’t share details now, but I wondered if you suspected any wise guy associations as part of your litigation.”
“Off the record?”
“You can trust me, you know that.”
“Yes. That’s all I can say for now. Maybe we can sit down soon and compare notes.”
“You know I’d walk a mile for you, Pree.”
Dupree Williams burst out laughing. “Just not the green mile, right, big guy?”
Jericho laughed. “Maybe for a last meal—a cut of choice beef!”
They rang off. Jericho looked at Bill whose eyebrows hoisted.
“Well now,” Bill said. “Will it help Dupree’s case if we got some detailed profit and loss statements?”
“He might not be able to get it through discovery. Either that, or ServMark will inundate him with record and he won’t have the forensic resources to sort it all out. Thinking of Crystal?”
“They say follow the money. You still on good terms with her?”
“Hell yeah. I even met Fernando, shook his hand.”
“Maybe you can work a whistle-blower angle with her, you know, hold out the prospect of a reward.”
“I wouldn’t need to do that with her unless Fernando becomes a problem. If he did, it would placate him.”
Bill was jacked waiting for Eddie’s call. The prospect of Louise’s freedom brought hope to his anguished soul. Yet, a twinge of tenuousness came into the picture as he recalled that she had come to think of him as dangerous. It caused her slow but purposeful drift, like an iceberg silently skulking toward the Titanic. Her ordeal with Eddie was the culmination of her fears, maybe pushed her permanently around the bend. No way could her affection for that murderous creep be real, yet when Bill added two and two, four became a distinct possibility.
Then there was Eddie himself. Once Louise was free of him, payback time would gong like wind chimes in a hurricane. Then, Bill’s only dilemma would be when and how to do it.
The phone rang.
“Yeah,” he said. It was Eddie. “I think we’re close. He’s agreed to the amount. While he puts it together, we need to think of how to get it to you.”
“He won’t get it to me, he’ll get it to Louisey.”
“What’s your plan?”
“When you confirm the cash is at hand, I’ll tell you the rest. I’m still thinkin’ it through.”
“I want to see Louise again. I want to make sure you aren’t abusing her.”
“Funny you should say. She wants to see you too.”
Bill’s heart jumped.
“She wants to show you something,” Eddie went on.
“Where can we meet?” Bill asked.
“You be at the phone booth tomorrow outside of Dunkin’ Donuts across from Saint Agnes Hospital. I’ll call that number at 5:00 p.m. sharp. You won’t see me, but I’ll have my eye on you. If I see you pick up the phone after we talk, the meeting is off. I’ll tell you then where to be.”
“Agreed.”
It was a busy place at a busy time, easy for Eddie to lose himself among traffic and pedestrians hustling home from work. Bill wondered if he should let Luca in on the rendezvous. Maybe Luca’s men could fan out and tail Eddie or find a way to trap him.
He decided against it. If they had a chance to nail Eddie, would they care what happened to Louise? No way, so no, leave Luca out of it for now, and since Louise was going to help with the transfer, maybe not even then. And Louise’s life wasn’t the only thing to consider. Bill still wanted Eddie for himself.
He tossed two pot pies into the microwave and filled a tall tumbler with Popov vodka from a plastic bottle and added a splash of orange juice. He gulped half of it down and refilled the glass, this time without the juice. Then another. He stood at the kitchen counter and stared into the sink. What was to become of him? His whole life’s purpose was reduced to saving Louise and killing Eddie Matthews. But then what? Then nothing—into oblivion—down a dark drain and through the grinder before his minced parts gurgled into a city sewer.
But at least everything would finally be made right.
He poured another drink and collapsed into a chair as the microwave buzzer announced its cargo of steaming gravy bubbling through the crust, but he had no energy to get up; instead, his head fell forward with his chin on his chest and spittle running down his cheek.
He stirred many times but the best he could do was drink more and stagger to the sofa while the indigo night dissolved into pre-dawn hope. He finally awoke and stumbled into a freezing shower to take his mind off the special kind of throbbing, cheap-vodka headache. He put on freshly pressed clean khakis, a lightweight yellow turtleneck, and loafers. As he brushed his wispy, reddish hair he recalled that it was the same outfit he wore the first time she agreed to see a movie with him and invited him to her house as she made tea and they talked and talked into the night. She told him she was happy to see him sipping tea and not booze. He explained that his binges had been caused by anxiety surrounding the transition between prison and life on the outside, and that he couldn’t imagine himself being dependent on alcohol now that his life was stabilizing. He took it as a hopeful sign when she said, “No woman wants to be second.”
As he recalled that evening, he vowed to be done feeling sorry for himself. There was important work to do, and if he was ever to win her back, he needed to give up the sauce. He went to the plastic bo
ttle of vodka, unscrewed the cap, and poured it down the toilet. As he did, he murmured to himself, “Piss on it.” Before leaving for his appointment with her and Eddie, he did.
By the time he reached the phone booth in front of the Dunkin’ Donuts, his headache had subsided. He took deep breaths to control his anxiety—about seeing her, about what she would try to convey, about his capacity to pick up on it and do the right thing, about his ability to save her.
The pay phone rang. He picked it up. “The emergency waiting room at St. Agnes Hospital,” was the only thing Eddie said. It was only a half block away. Bill jogged there.
When he arrived they were sitting near a hallway with access to three exits. He saw Eddie first, then her. She still caused a hitch in his breath. Eddie smiled, she didn’t. Rather than feel discouraged, his attitude firmed. She needed him more than ever. He took a seat across from them.
“Show him,” was the first thing Eddie said, not taking his eyes off Bill.
She tugged with both hands at the neckline of her blue cotton, off-the-shoulder top, pulling it down to reveal the flesh of her breasts just above the nipples. Tattooed across the expanse of her chest was EDDIE, with small hearts on either side.
Eddie grinned.
“Are you okay?” Bill said to Louise.
“Yeah,” was all she said, not looking at him as she straightened the seams on the shoulders of her jersey.
He looked at Eddie. “Comes time to make the drop, I’ll want her to wear a certain outfit.”
“How’s come?” Eddie asked.
“I’m thinking of the concourse at Suburban Station,” Bill said. “I’ll want her dressed to be identifiable yet blend in.”
“That’s a better idea than the one I had,” Eddie said.
As Bill looked into Louise’s vacant eyes, he said to Eddie, “We’ll talk about the rest of the transaction later.”
“You mean your part of it?”
“Like we talked.”
“And I get my money first, right?”
“Yeah,” Bill said.
“Can do. I’m ready for a change anyways.”
I Detest All My Sins Page 18