by Lois Winston
After what seemed like forever, I freed my arms and ripped the tape from my mouth. Not bothering with my legs at this point, I reached for my cell phone and called Batswin.
“Batswin,” She answered on the first ring, and I breathed a huge sigh.
“I’m trapped in Ricardo’s trunk. He’s going to kill me,” I whispered.
“Who is this? I can’t hear you. Speak up.”
I whispered as loud as I dared. “Anastasia Pollack. I’m locked in Ricardo’s trunk.”
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know. I was at Trimedia, but he knocked me out. I don’t know how long ago. What time is it now?”
“A few minutes before three.”
I remembered glancing at the clock on Hugo’s desk as I straightened up his files. “Then we’re somewhere within a twenty or thirty minute radius of Trimedia, but he’s driving very fast.”
“Can you describe the car?”
“A black Mercedes. New York plates.”
“Any chance you caught the plate number? Or at least a partial?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to remember. The entire percussion section of the New York Philharmonic was tuning up inside my head, compliments of Ricardo’s conk to my noggin. I searched my memory.
“Mrs. Pollack? Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m trying to remember. A vanity plate. He had a vanity plate.”
“What did it say?”
I remember thinking how appropriate. And stupid. But why? The car hit a pothole. My head slammed into the top of the trunk, sending my teeth through my tongue. I tasted blood and groaned.
“What happened? Are you all right?”
“Sure, Detective.” I spit out a mouthful of blood. “I’m having the time of my life—what’s left of it.”
“We’ll find you. I promise.”
“Great. You think you could maybe do it before I’m swimming with the fishes?”
“My partner’s putting out an APB as we speak, but a tag number would speed things up.”
“That’s it!”
“What?”
“Up. The tag read UP2NOGD.”
She snorted. “You’re kidding.”
“Hey, my brain is speeding toward a date with a bullet. Would I joke about a thing like that?”
“Sit tight. We’re on our way.”
Sit tight? Where the hell did she expect me to go? “One other thing, Detective...”
“Yes?”
“I know who—” Static blared in my ear. A moment later, my phone went dead.
There was nothing else I could do other than free my legs and wait. And hope the cops found Ricardo’s Mercedes before he dumped my body in some watery grave.
At least the wait proved educational. Erica, sounding as though she had forgotten Dicky had moments ago smacked her hard enough to rattle her fillings—or maybe because of it—stepped into full suck-up mode. “You sure have the cops fooled,” she said.
Ricardo guffawed. “Dumb shmucks. I sure got ‘em chasing after their tails, don’t I?”
“Except at one point I was scared they suspected me of killing Marlys.”
“Hey, Sweet Cheeks, you know I wouldn’t a let it come to that. Besides, I was always one step ahead of them, thanks to you.”
“Me?”
“Sure. You did real good. You Bonnie, me Clyde, huh? Couldn’t’ve set it up better myself.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Remember the day you called all upset about that bitch boss of yours blaming you for something she wrote?”
“The article on Vittorio Versailles.”
“Yeah. That one. You also mentioned the diamonds and her date later that night with what’s-his-name.”
“Emil Pachette.”
“Right. Him. Anyways, that’s when it comes to me. You know how I hated the way that bitch was treating you, making you do all her work and her getting all the credit. Not to mention the big bucks while you’re making diddly-shit.”
“Yes?”
“So’s I figure nothing’s gonna change as long as she’s struttin’ around like the Queen of the Nile.”
“So you killed her for me?”
“Hey, what’re friends for? And look where you are now. A big shit fashion editor. My Sweet Cheeks.”
“No one’s ever killed for me before, Dicky. I...I’m overwhelmed.”
“Anything for my Sweet Cheeks.”
“So tell me, how’d you pull it off?”
“Easy. I arranged for the fashion fag to leave town. Then I called the switchboard and left a message for the bitch. Pretended to be this Emil guy and told the operator to tell the bitch I’d send a chauffeur to pick her up at the office.” He laughed. “Only surprise! It wasn’t a limo jockey who showed up.”
“But how’d you get her to drink the doctored wine?”
“How do you think? I held a gun to her head.”
“And then you made it look like Anastasia had killed Marlys because you thought she was holding out on you?”
He snarled. “Stroke of genius that hit me while the fashion bitch was drinking the Merlot. Originally, I was just gonna tie her up and secure a plastic bag over her head once she passed out. Then I thought, why not rattle the widow’s cage a bit? Really spook her. And give the cops someone else to focus their suspicions on.”
“Instead of me?”
“Right. By the by, Sweet Cheeks, I know your friend’s got the dough stashed somewheres. Maybe when I tell her I’m gonna snuff out her kids after I dump her body, she’ll have an attack of sudden remembering.”
“Wh...where are we taking her?”
“Delaware Water Gap. We’ll toss the body over the cliffs into the river.”
Hurry, hurry, hurry, I silently commanded Batswin and her posse. I tried my phone again, pressing Redial.
“Batswin.”
“Thank God!” I whispered.
“Mrs. Pollack? Why’d you hang up? I was afraid to call you back in case he heard the phone ring. Stay on the line so you can help us track him.”
“I didn’t hang up. We must have entered a dead cell zone. But I know where he’s taking me.”
“Where?”
‘The Delaware Water Gap.”
“That means he’s probably on Route 80. We’ve got state troopers all over that road, and I’m in a helicopter searching overhead.”
“Best news I’ve heard all day. By the way, he just confessed to killing Marlys, and I’m pretty sure he knocked off Vittorio Versailles.”
“Confessed? You mean he’s with someone?”
“Erica Milano. Did you know that she’s Joey Milano’s daughter?”
“Of course. Was she in on all this?”
“Not intentionally, but it turns out Ricardo’s her boyfriend, and she’s been feeding him enough details to keep him outsmarting you.”
More puzzle pieces fell into place. Erica had been standing outside the conference room while Batswin and Robbins were grilling me the day after the murder. She must have overheard me telling them about Ricardo and how I agreed to help trap him in their sting. That’s why later she was so curious about the duffel bag. But at that point did Erica realize Ricardo was Dicky?
And it was Dicky—or Ricardo—who had given Erica an iPhone and suggested she copy all of Marlys’s files to it in order to make dealing with Marlys’s constant demands easier. I’ll bet he then downloaded those files to his own phone. Which would have given him access to all the e-mail addresses and phone numbers he needed to carry out his dirty work.
Ricardo continued to gloat about his success as I spoke with Batswin. I tried to listen to both of them at the same time, but the noise from the car made it difficult. “Hold on,” I said.
“And you were responsible for the break-ins at Anastasia’s house?” asked Erica.
“Yeah.” He chuckled. “Piece a cake. I hit that place three times.”
“Three? I only heard about the first two, but you didn’t take anythi
ng, did you?”
“Sure I did. Not the first time, though.”
“You went looking for the money?”
“Yeah, but some nosy buttinsky showed up. I trashed the place real good, though. Served her right for lying to me about the dough.”
“You’re sure she’s lying? What if she really doesn’t have the money?”
“Don’t be stupid. She’s got it, all right. Or she knows where it is.”
“I don’t know. What about the other times? Why’d you go back?”
“When you told me she and the cops were setting me up, I got the bright idea of planting a photo of that shmuck husband of hers with your bitchy boss. Make the cops suspect her even more of doin’ in the bitch.”
With everything else I had learned about my dearly beloved, at least he hadn’t cheated on me. Well, at least not with Marlys. I might never learn what other secrets accompanied Karl to the grave, be they illicit activities or illicit affairs. And maybe that was a good thing.
I could have forgiven Karl his gambling addiction if he hadn’t left us in a financial quagmire that ruined his sons’ futures. After all, gambling is a disease, and I did utter that in-sickness-and-in-health vow. But gambling isn’t covered by medical insurance, and all things considered, I would have preferred my husband contracting leprosy.
I also doubted I could have forgiven him for cheating on me. And then there was the business about trying to kill his mother. Even if Lucille was the commie from Hell, that’s no justification for matricide.
“Anastasia figured someone doctored the photo and planted it in Marlys’s apartment,” said Erica.
“He wasn’t such a bad lookin’ dude, that Karl. Coulda happened.”
“He was an auto parts salesman, Dicky! Marlys wouldn’t look twice at a guy like that.”
“Hey, Karl was hung.”
“How would you know?”
“I seen him at the gym once or twice. Besides, high-class broads like to go slummin’.”
“But if you knew Anastasia was working with the police, why did you go along with it?”
“Jeez, Erica! Don’t go stupid on me. I needed to get them all out of the way long enough to hit the place again, didn’t I?”
“Friday night?”
“Yeah, I wiped her out. Fenced the stuff to pay off your old man. But all that crap didn’t make much of a dent in the fifty G’s. Wasn’t worth shit as far as your Uncle Nardo was concerned.”
“Uncle Nardo? How’s he involved in this?”
“Use your head, Sweet Cheeks. He’s a fence, ain’t he? Anyways, he claims what with eBay sellin’ electronics crap so cheap and newer models coming out every day, it ain’t worth the effort. I think he screwed me, though. Gave me all of five grand for the whole lot, but I had no choice. I had to dump the goods quick.”
“But you had the diamonds, Dicky. Why not give those to Daddy?”
“You got boulders for brains, Sweet Cheeks? You know how much that ice’s worth? I ain’t turning them baubles over to Joey M. No way. I earned them diamonds fair and square on my own time, not on a job for the boss.”
“But won’t Daddy get real mad when you don’t hand over all the money?”
“Why should I fork over my hard-earned dough when it’s Karl who screwed me? And now his wife’s trying to pull a fast one. Trust me. She’ll cough up the whereabouts of the bread to save those kids of hers. Besides, I kinda figured you’d look real good wearing some of those rocks.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Gotta get them reset first, though. Don’t want anyone recognizing them.”
“Maybe one of them could be in an engagement ring?”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, Dicky.”
“Don’t paw me while I’m drivin’, Sweet Cheeks. Gets me too excited.”
Erica giggled. “Dicky?”
“Hmm?”
“I just had an idea.”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe we should stash Anastasia at Daddy’s hunting lodge, and you could go get her sons and bring them there.”
“Or maybe I should kill one first and dump his body at her feet. I’ll bet she’d sing her little heart out to save the other one.”
“Uhm...that would work, but why not kill him in front of her? More impact, right?”
“Yeah, even better. Hey, now you’re alking’ like a Milano, Sweet Cheeks. Your old man’d be real proud of you.”
“I’ll stay at the cabin and keep an eye on her while you go get the kids.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
My heart now beat as loudly as the kettle drums pounding in my head. I could barely force the words out as I spoke into the phone. “Did you hear that? My God! He’s going to kill one of my kids.”
But Batswin didn’t answer. We’d entered another dead cell zone.
THIRTY
“Shit! Where the hell’d they come from?”
Ricardo slammed on the brakes. I whiplashed from the front to the back of the trunk, adding yet another layer of bumps, bruises, and abrasions to my bleeding and battered body. The car fishtailed; I flew from side to side. Now I knew what it was like to go a dozen rounds with Mike Tyson—and come up on the losing end.
I heard a loud smack as we sped off in the direction we’d come. “You backstabbing bitch! You’re working with them, aren’t you?”
Erica screamed out in pain. “No, Dicky, no! I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”
“Then how’d they know to stake out the lodge?” Ricardo had gone ballistic. I couldn’t be sure what he was doing to Erica as we sailed down the road, but by the choking sounds she was making and the repeated sickening thuds, it sounded like he had grabbed her by the throat and was smashing her head against the dashboard.
“I don’t know!” she gasped. “Please stop! You’re hurting me. I can’t breathe!”
“Hurting you? I ain’t begun to hurt you, bitch.”
I heard a loud crunch. Then silence.
“Goddamn sonofabitch!” He slammed on the brake again. The car jerked to the side, spun, then flipped. My body bounced around like a load of wet laundry in a clothes dryer. My head continued to spin even after the car came to a rest, upside down.
I don’t know how long I lay there. I think I may have suffered a concussion. Shouting voices and sirens surrounded me but like a dream that faded in and out of my consciousness. Finally, someone banged on the car. “Mrs. Pollack? Can you hear me? Are you all right?”
I never thought I’d be so happy to hear Robbins’s voice. “I’m alive,” I shouted.
“Hold on. We have to flip the car to get you out.”
The Mercedes rocked back and forth like some mangled metal hammock. I swayed along with it, each to and fro more pronounced.
Someone yelled, “Here it goes.”
The car flipped, slamming right-side up, and I followed, slamming my head yet again.
“Still with us, Mrs. Pollack?” yelled Robbins.
“No, I decided to step out for a Starbucks. This is a recording.”
He laughed. Detective Robbins actually laughed! “While you’re there how about getting me a double-shot mocha Frappachino?”
A moment later I heard the unmistakable sound of ripping metal and saw the most glorious sight in the world—an Under Dog tie swinging from Robbins’s thick neck.
He helped me out of the trunk and gave me the once over. “You don’t look too good.”
I swayed on my feet and nearly fell back into the trunk. He grabbed my arm to steady me. “You think?”
“We’re going to get you checked out at the hospital,” said Batswin, coming up behind us. A couple of EMTs, one wheeling a stretcher, followed her.
Robbins led me to the stretcher, but before I allowed them to strap me in, I scanned the area. Lots of cars with flashing lights. An ambulance. A fire truck. People milling around, some in uniforms, some not. A few holding rifles. “What about Ricardo and Erica?”
Batswin jerked her chin toward
a set of flashing lights receding in the distance. “The other ambulance already left with them.”
~*~
Six hours later, after a stint of physical poking and prodding at the hospital, followed by several hours of verbal poking and prodding at the Morris County precinct, I sat in traffic on my way back to Westfield. Batswin drove, Robbins following behind in my Hyundai.
I had sustained a mild concussion from all the head-banging and several cracked ribs. My X-Acto knife stabbed, bruised and battered body—covered in shades of reds, purples, blues, and greens—looked like an Expressionist painter had mistaken me for a canvas. My head felt like it was hosting a Rave, and it hurt like hell to breathe—let alone move. But I felt terrific.
“What’s going to happen to Erica?” I asked. I had learned from Batswin that both Erica and Ricardo were listed in stable condition, having sustained numerous minor but few major injuries other than some broken bones. A testament to the advantages of seat belts and air bags, even when traveling at Mach One.
“She’s cooperating. The Feds offered her Witness Protection, and she jumped at the chance. By the way, you owe your life to her.”
“How? She couldn’t have known I had freed myself and had my cell phone.”
“No, but she had hers. She planned to call the police as soon as Ricardo left the two of you at her father’s hunting lodge.”
“And Ricardo?”
“He’s angling to cut a deal, too.”
“But he’s a murderer!”
“I don’t think the Feds will be interested. There isn’t much he can tell them that they can’t get from Erica. Ricardo is pretty low level in the Milano organization pecking order. My guess is he developed a relationship with Erica to curry favor with her father.”
Poor Erica. She deserved a life of her own. No wonder she welcomed the offer of Witness Protection and the chance to get away from her family permanently. “So Ricardo was what? A mob loan shark?”
“Right.”
I laughed. “Erica had us convinced Dicky was a financial consultant.”
“Banker for a private financial institution would have been a more fitting description. He didn’t lend his money. He lent mob money. And probably only about twenty-five thousand to your husband. The rest would have been the interest that had accrued on the loan.”