[Friendship & Honor 02.0] Murder Has Consequences

by Giacomo Giammatteo

  Two keys of coke stared up at me. What the hell was Bobby into? One thing for sure, this wasn’t the leftovers from a deal. This is what got Bobby killed. No doubt about it. This is where the fifty large came from.

  And he put it in the bank!

  The way I figured it, Bobby Campisi deserved to be killed for being so stupid. I shut the bag, shoved it back into the locker and closed it up. No way I was getting caught with that on my person.

  I drove to a nearby sandwich shop, picked up a roast-beef sub, then thought about what I learned. I now knew what got Bobby killed, but what I had to figure out was whose junk he stole, because sure as shit they wouldn’t stop looking. Donna would likely be next.

  And she’ll tell them she gave me the key. Fuck me twice.

  After finishing my meal, I went back to work. Some new bids were coming up, and if I could get a head start on them, it would look good. As I copied the prints I heard Joe arguing on the phone with someone in the next room. Pretty soon he came into the copy room, a smoke dangling from his mouth. I knew he was pissed; he never smoked in the building.

  “What’s up, boss? Somebody giving you trouble?”

  He waved his hand. “Nothing,” he said. “Just some asshole blocking our bid on that new state project.”

  I didn’t say anything, just kept copying.

  “I looked at those bids Sheila turned in,” he said. “How did we come in so low on the warehouse?”

  “I looked at the supplies. We were paying too much for rods, so I called a guy I knew and made a deal.”

  “A deal?”

  I heard the suspicion in his voice. “Nothing illegal, if that’s what you’re thinking. Just old friends doing each other favors.”

  He nodded. “Okay, I like it.” Joe started to leave and then turned. “You don’t know anybody who could help with this other thing, do you?”

  “You dealing with Moresco?”

  Joe lit up. “Yeah, Johnny Moresco. You know him?”

  I shrugged. “I know him, but I don’t know if I can do us any good. I’ll check if you want.”

  Joe smiled. “Do that, Nicky.” As he left he said, “And I’m sorry about yesterday. I was in a bad mood.”

  “No problem. You were right.” I finished up the day worrying the whole time about Rosa, so I drove faster than I should have to get home. A contributing factor being that neither Rosa nor Angie were answering their cell phones. What were phones for if not to answer? Did they wear them as jewelry? Lose them in their purses? An image of their purses came to mind, and I realized I must have just solved the mystery. That’s where both of the phones were.

  Now that I felt better about that, I focused on Johnny Moresco and what I’d say to get us in the door. I settled for relying on the friendship I had with his father, Teddy the Tank, and his uncle, Patsy the Whale.

  Angie and Rosa were home, both in the kitchen cooking dinner and singing. The two of them had a great relationship and they were two of the happiest people I knew.

  “What’s for dinner tonight?” I hollered as I came through the dining room.

  “Leftovers,” Rosa said, and gave me a big hug.

  I sniffed the air. “Leftovers, my ass. That smells like homemade riccotta, and that—” He pointed and spoke to Rosa. “Looks like ravioli that your mother is making.”

  I dipped my finger in the sauce and tasted it. “Needs a pinch of sugar.”

  She got a defiant look, put one hand on her right hip, and cocked her legs. I laughed. It was the exact same look Angie used to give me when we were teenagers. Normally just before she swung the spoon at me.

  “Do what you want,” I said to Rosa, “But I'm telling you it needs a little sugar.”

  Angie glanced over as she finished stuffing ravioli. “If your father says it needs sugar, you better put some in.”

  “Mom…”

  “Trust me, Rosa. He can’t cook, but he’s a good taster. Every cook needs a good taster. Even Mamma Rosa used your father.”

  Rosa rolled her eyes, but she grabbed the sugar, and turned back to me. “How much, Chef Niccolo?”

  “One tablespoon should do, smart ass.”

  Rosa laughed, added the sugar, and handed me the spoon. “If you can stir the sauce, I’ll pour the wine,” she said.

  “Anybody follow you today?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t see them.”

  “Good. Now I can eat in peace.”

  I took the glass of wine Rosa poured and went to the living room to turn some music on. Just then the doorbell rang. A quick detour had me staring at a young, pale-faced kid with a big smile. It hadn’t taken Mike Riley long to get his courage back, though I suspected that hormones had a lot to do with it. A fifteen-year-old boy who thinks he’s in love will jump in front of a train for the chance at copping a feel, or worse. And though I dreaded to think that was going on yet, I was a realist. Despite those thoughts, I smiled.

  “Well, if it isn’t Mike Riley, the mick who doesn’t know he’s a mick.”

  He let out a bashful laugh.

  “Come in, Mr. Riley.”

  As he stepped through the door, I leaned down and whispered, “Mrs. Fusco doesn’t know what happened.”

  His face lit up. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  “Who was at the door?” Angie hollered from the kitchen.

  “It’s Rosa’s friend Mike Riley. You remember him.”

  Angie came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on the apron that was always wrapped around her while she cooked. It was like a magical apron, as if she couldn’t cook without it. She smiled and stretched her hand out to greet him. “It’s so good to see you again, Mike. How are you? Are you hungry?”

  I watched as she spoke—the way she smiled, the warmth in her voice, her genuine niceness. All the reasons why I loved this woman so much. “Don’t fatten him up too much, Angie.”

  “Oh no, Mr. Fusco. I love Mrs. Fusco’s cooking. I don’t get things like this at my house.”

  I jabbed him in the shoulder. “I got news for you, kid. I’m not trying to get rid of her yet, but Rosa is just as good a cook as her mother.” From the corner of my eye I saw Rosa whisper to him.

  “Better.”

  “Sit down, Mike. Tell me about yourself.” I turned to Rosa. “Pour Mike a glass of wine.”

  She came and sat on my lap, while she sipped her wine. “Dad, Mike isn’t allowed to drink. I told you before, most parents don’t give their kids wine.”

  I shrugged. “All right, you better not then. But tell me about yourself anyway.”

  Just as Mike started to talk, my phone rang. I flipped it open. “Hello.”

  It was Johnny Moresco. I had called him on the way home. “Hang on, Johnny, I’m going to step outside.”

  “Tell me this ain’t the same Nicky Fusco I visited in prison when my dad was there.”

  “Same one, Johnny. And I still owe him one. Tell him I’ll drop a few cartons off like I used to in the old days.”

  There was silence. Then I detected sorrow in Johnny’s voice. “Yeah, well, you might have dropped off a few too many, Nicky. Guess you didn’t know, but Pops got cancer. He’s not doin’ too great.”

  “I didn’t know. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah, so anyway, what did you call for?”

  “I feel bad for even bringing this up now.”

  “Go on. This is old times. Tell me.”

  I breathed in deep. “I work for Joe Tomkins and I know he was trying to bid on the—”

  “Say no more. Tell that asshole as long as you’re handling the project, he can submit a bid.”

  I let out a huge silent sigh. “Thanks, Johnny. That means a lot.”

  “Nicky, this isn’t a gimme. It’s a shot at a bid, that’s all. This ain’t the old days.”

  “I know. The old days are long gone, and not for the better.” I paused. “Thanks again. My prayers are with your dad.”

  Angie had dinner on the table when I went back in. It look
ed and smelled great. I sat between Rosa and Angie, opposite Mike. I said grace—in Latin—despite Rosa’s warning glare, and then we talked about the Bobby Campisi case while we ate. I almost laughed at Mike, who seemed to be engrossed with eating, though I couldn’t blame him for that. After dinner, he got up and helped with the dishes. He didn’t just offer like most people; he jumped in and did it. Another plus for the kid. As much as I didn’t want to, I liked Mike Riley. A lot.

  I grabbed Angie by the arm. “Grab your wine. Let’s go out front and talk.”

  Angie hollered to Rosa. “We’re leaving the dishes to you guys.”

  We sat on the stoop, sipping wine and chatting. I patted her belly. “I meant to ask, should you be drinking wine in your…condition?”

  “I checked. A glass or two won’t hurt.” She kissed me on the cheek. “But thanks for thinking about it.”

  I kissed her back. “Now there will be a lot more to love.”

  She beamed. “I was afraid to tell you. I thought—”

  I leaned over and kissed her again. “How could I not be happy.”

  “I meant to ask you earlier,” Angie said. “If you’re saying someone was after Bobby, how did it happen to take place the same night Frankie kicked his ass?”

  I nodded. “Been thinking about that myself. No one could have known Bugs was going there, especially the night of his father’s wake.”

  Angie rubbed my arm. “So that means either it was a God-awful coincidence or—”

  “Or the someone who was after Bobby happened to be at the bar that night and took advantage of a situation.”

  “So who was there?” Angie asked, and took another sip of wine.

  “That’s what I intend to clarify.” I kissed her again. “By the way, did I tell you that you’d make a great detective?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Nicky, why isn’t Detective Borelli following leads like this?”

  “I’ve been wondering that too. Something’s not right.”

  ***

  ROSA WASHED THE DISHES and handed them to Mike to dry. “You’re slow.”

  “I’m not used to this. We use a dishwasher at my house.”

  “They’re even slower,” Rosa said. “Look, we’re almost done.”

  Mike looked around, making sure they were alone. “We need to tell your dad.”

  Daggers came out of Rosa’s eyes. “Don’t you dare say anything.”

  “I don’t like this. We owe him.”

  “I don’t know what your problem is,” Rosa said. “He wanted to kill you the day he caught us.”

  “But he didn’t, and I like your dad. He’s scary, but he’s nice.”

  Rosa glared at Mike. “If you tell him one thing, you can forget seeing me again.” She shoved a pot at him. “Hurry up and dry.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Interrogation

  Brooklyn, New York

  Donovan arrived at the Channel 5 news building at almost the same time as Lou and Sherri. Cindy Ellis met them at the elevator, then set a quick pace down a long hallway.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” Cindy said. “First the nut leaves me a message telling me there will be more bodies, now he sends me a hand. A hand!”

  She turned to Frankie, walking close behind her. “You don’t think I’m in any danger do you?”

  “He wouldn’t dare assault a member of the press,” Lou said, and managed to refrain from smiling.

  “I hope not.” Cindy opened a set of double doors that led to an even longer hallway. About halfway down the corridor, she turned left through a door with an empty nameplate on it. “They had me put it in here,” she said, and waited for everyone to enter before closing the door.

  A small box sat on a table near the center of the room. She pointed to it. “It’s in there.”

  “We should wait for Kate,” Lou said.

  “I want to see it,” Frankie said. “I’m not touching anything.” He opened the lid, peering inside. Sherri Miller stood beside him.

  “It’s a hand, all right,” she said, and leaned back.

  “It’s got something written on it,” Frankie said.

  Lou got closer. “What?”

  “I can’t tell, but something is definitely written in the skin.” Frankie closed the lid. “Where is Kate?” He grabbed his cell phone and dialed her number.

  “Hello, Donovan. Looking for me?”

  “Where are you?”

  “About half a dozen floors below you, waiting for an elevator.”

  “Okay, see you in a few.” Frankie turned to Sherri and Lou. “She’s on her way up.”

  Kate arrived a few minutes later with less than a full complement of aides, although her trusted photographer did accompany her. He took photos of the inside of the box, then Kate pulled the hand out and set it on the table, again taking photos of it from all angles. After that, she unwrapped it, removed the clear plastic and examined it. “Looks like you got yourself a real human hand, Donovan.”

  “I got that far,” he said. “What else?”

  “By the way, I’m sorry about your father.” She never took her eyes from the body part. “I got your message, and I wasn’t ignoring you, just busy.”

  Frankie put his hand on Kate’s arm. A tingle raced through him, forcing a shiver. It had been a long time since he’d felt something so good. She turned to him and held his gaze, then got back to work. It was only an instant, but Frankie thought he saw something in her eyes. Enough to bring a smile to his face.

  Kate brought the hand closer and narrowed her eyes. “Uh oh.”

  Frankie moved closer. “What?”

  “We got us a religious wacko.”

  “Are you talking the—”

  She nodded. “Yep. Mea culpa,” she said. “It’s scratched in here real small, but with damn good writing. I’d say this gentleman had good penmanship.”

  Lou and Sherri looked at each other at the same time. “Catholic school,” they both said.

  “Another thing,” Kate said. “This isn’t a fresh cut. This hand was removed days ago, at best. Maybe more. I won’t be able to tell until I get it back to the lab, but it’s definitely been a few days.” She reached her hand into the box and brought out something else. “Hold on, we’ve got more. A note.”

  “What’s it say?” Frankie asked, moving closer.

  Kate held him off. “Hold on a minute. I’ll get it to you as soon as I can.” She turned to her assistant. He took a photo of it as she laid it on the table. “Okay, you can take a look. Just don’t touch anything.”

  “What’s it say?” Lou asked. “My eyes aren’t that good anymore.”

  Sherri looked close. “Says ‘this one belongs on the fifth floor. One more piece to the puzzle.’” She turned to Lou. “You think he means fifth floor of the building where we found the other one?”

  “Got to be,” Lou said.

  Frankie leaned over Kate’s shoulder, inhaling her scent. It had been a long time. A very long time. “Anything else?”

  Kate shook her head. “That’s it. And if you guys are finished with this, I’m taking it with me.” Kate put her gear away and leaned in close to Frankie. “I’m busy tonight, but I’ll see you later this week.”

  Frankie smiled. “You got a deal.”

  “If you two are through having fun,” Lou said. “We need to interview a suspect.”

  Frankie nodded. “You’re right about that. Something fishy about this whole thing. And what does that mean, ‘one more piece to the puzzle’? You think this asshole is playing some kind of game with us?”

  “We’re not going to find out standing here,” Sherri said.

  ***

  THEY STOPPED OUTSIDE OF the building where Lisa worked. Frankie assumed command despite what he said to Sherri earlier, about her taking the lead.

  He lit a cigarette, talking as the smoke poured from his mouth. “We need to check every office on the fifth floor. See if anyone is missing, or has been missing. Kate said that thing was old. Not f
resh cut.”

  “I’ll handle that,” Sherri said.

  “No way. I need you with us. Call it in and have Morreau send a team down here. If he gives you any shit, tell him I said so.”

  Sherri looked at him as if he were nuts. Tell the lieutenant that? “You want me to do that?” Her voice was meek.

  “No time like the present to learn, and one thing you’ll learn quickly in homicide is if you don’t fight for resources, you’re screwed.”

  They walked quickly down the corridor to the office where Lisa worked, flashing badges as soon as they entered the door.

  “We need to speak with Lisa Jackson,” Frankie said.

  “May I ask—”

  “No,” Lou said, and shoved his badge in front of her again. “Just call her.”

  Lisa Jackson was not anything like what Sherri expected. She had seen the photo of her, but that must have been a few years ago, and she must have been fifteen or twenty pounds heavier then. And not nearly as gorgeous. She approached them with a confidence not unlike a movie actress, and a smile that any woman would envy. Her eyes were penetrating, and she focused on Sherri as she extended her hand.

  “Hi, I’m Lisa Jackson. You must be the detectives they said wanted to see me.”

  Sherri took her hand. “Detective Sherri Miller,” she said and handed her a card, then introduced the others. “This is Detective Lou Mazzetti and Detective Frankie Donovan.”

  Lisa looked at each of them as she shook their hands, then flashed a smile that was both warm and inviting. From what Sherri could tell from their reactions, it was as if Lisa had undressed. This was going to be a tough interview.

  “Is there someplace private we can go?” Sherri asked.

  “There’s a conference room down the hall. May I get you some coffee, or water?”

  “Coffee would be great,” Frankie said. “Black.”

  Sherri frowned, but went along with it. “I’ll have some too, please. No sugar and a little cream.”

  Lisa had someone run for the coffee then led them to a conference room large enough to seat twenty people. She closed the door after Lou straggled in. “What’s this about? I assume it has something to do with Ben Davidoff.”