The Body Mafia

by Stacy Dittrich

  He walked over and knelt before me. “I do understand, and I’m not trying to make this harder than it is. What you’re doing right now to find his killer tells me how much you loved him.” He paused. “I met him once, you know.”

  “You met Michael?”

  He nodded. “I followed Niccolo, right before he died, to see what he was into. I was the one that discovered his allegiance with the FBI. Niccolo and Michael met in the Metroparks once. After Niccolo left, I confronted him.”

  I stood up. “You confronted Michael? Why?”

  “It was no big deal, really. I just told him he was putting my brother’s life in danger by bringing him in. He looked at it differently. He said he was probably saving my brother’s life. I guess he was wrong, huh?”

  “I guess so.” I paused, looking at the spread-out files. “There you are. They’re all yours, the only copies, ” I lied, though I had every intention of destroying the other copies on the Filaci family. “So I guess you’ll be leaving now?” I asked, my voice almost inaudible.

  “Of course not.”

  His answer staggered me. “I just figured now that you have the files and tape, you’d leave.”

  “And miss the impending fall of Salvatore Iaccona? You’re kidding, right? Not to mention, I have a vested interest in all of this—you. My new closest friend, who I have to watch over, and make sure stays safe and sound.” He grinned at me and winked.

  “Thank you, Joseph.” I hugged him tightly before kissing his cheek. “You sure? You don’t have to do this.”

  “Sure as I’m gonna get. Now go get some sleep.”

  Walking back into my own room, I felt elated. Joseph was sticking with me. I had been trying to prepare myself for his imminent departure after he got the files, but he’d certainly surprised me. He’d surprised me by uncovering my own desire to have him around. It had been a long time since I’d been in daily contact with a close friend, and I missed it.

  The day before the scheduled meeting at the warehouse was a long one. Frank Trapini’s body had been discovered, and the story was all over the news. I couldn’t wait to hear what Singin’ Sal had to say about it.

  “Alan, it’s Agent Nicholas. Frank Trapini is dead.”

  “Jesus, don’t tell me she killed him, too!” Alan Keane felt light-headed.

  “No, we think she called it in, but we can’t say for sure right now. We’re assuming Sal knocked him off for letting Tommy get killed. He had him buried under this new condo construction site, and an anonymous phone call was made. Someone had dug him up and left a little landmark showing the cops where to go. It had to be her.”

  “I can’t believe he’d kill Trapini,” Alan thought aloud. “Things must be getting worse. Anything on Richland Metro’s last homicide?”

  “Nope, but we know that Cross guy is connected to LifeTech Industries. We found a shitload of its stock he had invested in, but I don’t think Richland Metro knows yet.”

  “Keep on it. Where is she?”

  “We don’t know, sir.”

  “Dear God, what ever you do, find her before Sal does.”

  According to Joseph, the meeting in Sal’s office was a who’s who of the Iaccona clan, and Sal wasn’t happy, to say the least. We watched the scene unfold on my laptop.

  “Somebody better start talking!” Sal screamed from behind his desk.

  Present in the room were Henry Mastragna, Petey and Antonio Iaccona, William Petrosini, and three other men that neither I nor Joseph recognized. None of the men spoke, but only hung their heads as if they were small children being admonished.

  “Somebody better start telling me how the fuck the cops got the body! How the fuck did they find it, and who the fuck tipped them off?” Sal stood up and knocked everything off his desk. “I better hear some talking, God damn it!”

  “Pop, listen…Settle down! We don’t know how they could’ve possibly found him. Someone must’ve followed us or something. Maybe it was the Filacis,” Antonio Iaccona said.

  Joseph’s jaw clenched as he heard this. Putting my hand on his arm, I gave it a slight squeeze while we continued to watch.

  “Filacis my ass! It was that goddamn Gallagher! I swear to Christ, when I get my hands on that Irish Mick bitch I’m gonna rip her fucking throat out!”

  Now it was my turn to have a clenched jaw. Having my throat ripped out by the man on the computer screen was not something I looked forward to.

  “We should’ve taken care of her the same time Hagerman was! And Niccolo! Should’ve taken care of all the motherfuckers at the same time! I’m surprised Frank didn’t fuck up Niccolo’s murder, too! Fucker left the goddamn ball bat behind when I told him not to. It was Frank! Goddamn Frank! I wish he was alive so I could blow his goddamn brains out again!”

  The admission I’d been waiting for. They had killed my husband and Niccolo Filaci. Salvatore Iaccona was going to pay with his life. But by the look on Joseph’s face, I saw that he might beat me to it. Sal continued blasting his employees.

  “The cops get ahold of you yet, Henry?” Sal fumed.

  “No, Sal, I haven’t been home since the news broke.”

  “You are going to the Philippines, and plan on staying there until the heat’s off. There’s another delivery waiting at the ware house on Washington Street. My inside guy is waiting for you. He’ll take you to the airport and check in the delivery. You know where to go once you get there?”

  “Sure, Sal, I went with Frank a coupla times.”

  “Good, get your ass moving. The Filipinos are threatening to pull the project because we’re behind, and Mansfield is gonna be on my chopping block soon if they don’t get their shit together. The fuckin’ Chinks are also threatening to make some heads roll, and it ain’t gonna be mine! Our other investors aren’t happy either! You got that? What the fuck—?”

  Sal looked directly at the camera and began walking closer, his image on the computer screen growing larger.

  “Oh shit, CeeCee, he fuckin’ found—”

  “Just wait. Maybe not!” I interrupted, and prayed.

  He stopped right in front of the hole. We still had audio.

  “What the fuck is this shit, Petey? We got fuckin’ rats or something? Get a fuckin’ exterminator in here tomorrow. It looks like something was crawling all inside that wall. I fucking hate rats.”

  I knew the feeling, but breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t located the camera yet.

  “Petey, you and Antonio find that bitch tonight! If not, go get her fuckin’ kids and do them. That’ll bring her out. I’m tired of fuckin’ around.”

  “Oh, hell no, he did not just threaten my children.” I stood up with every intention of driving directly to the warehouse and blowing a hole through the middle of Salvatore Iaccona.

  “Hold on, CeeCee, just wait. I think we should go to the warehouse on Washington Street. We’ll be able to find out what his business is. Did you hear him mention Mansfield?”

  “I heard him, and I think it’s coming together for me right now. Let’s go to the warehouse, so I know for sure.”

  Alan Keane and the other agents watched the same scene unfold that CeeCee and Joseph had. The FBI had found the office three weeks ago and had their own cameras in place—illegally. Another man watched, too, but stayed silent.

  “We’ve got him,” Alan announced.

  “It’s no good, Alan, you know that,” Gary Nicholas said. “We can’t use these tapes.”

  “We can’t use ours, but we sure as hell can use hers! I have a feeling those tapes are gonna make their way to us soon, a week at the max.”

  The other man stood up and finally spoke. “We don’t have a fucking week. Didn’t you listen? Get your asses to that warehouse on Washington Street!”

  We arrived at the warehouse just in time. We’d had a slight delay when I had to put a copy of the video of the Iaccona meeting into a mailbox. I was mailing it to my friend in Atlanta, while keeping a copy with me. During the fifteen minutes that we waited,
something strange happened. At least it seemed strange to me.

  Clearly getting antsy while we sat and waited, Joseph reached over and turned the radio on. I had been thinking about Michael and wasn’t paying attention until Joseph started to sing the song that was currently playing.

  My hair stood up on end, and it wasn’t from Joseph’s earth-shattering singing voice, either. He was singing a Pink Floyd song, and one of Michael’s favorites.

  “Isn’t that funny? We were just at their exhibit less than three days ago, and I haven’t heard one of their songs in ages. CeeCee? What’s wrong? Oh, come on. My voice can’t be that bad…”

  Quickly reaching over and turning the radio off, I tried to cover the look of despair on my face, but it was too late. Joseph had seen it.

  “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” His voice dripped with concern.

  “Nothing. That was Michael’s favorite song is all.” I was rattled.

  “That’s why we met at the exhibit.” He paused. “Oh, CeeCee, I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”

  Holding my hand up, I attempted to lighten the mood a little while getting my thoughts back together.

  “Don’t apologize. But, Joseph, could you do me a favor?”

  “Of course.”

  “If you’re smart, you’ll stay a mobster and forgo the singing career.” I smiled.

  I looked at the warehouse and saw that a large white van with the name LifeTech Industries on the side of it had arrived. It was backed up to one of the doors on the south side of the building.

  “Heads up, they’re here,” I announced.

  This wasn’t a loading dock, and it was close to three in the morning—definitely not a normal delivery time. Taking my night-vision goggles and binoculars out, I gasped aloud when I saw Dr. Donovan Esposito standing alongside the van. Another man, who looked somewhat familiar, had his back to me. I desperately wanted to see his face. As they loaded a small cooler into the back of the van, I chastised myself for not putting everything together sooner.

  “Holy, shit! Body organs. How could I have been so stupid?” I asked.

  “Care to fill me in?”

  “They’re running body organs, a multimillion-dollar business. That’s why Michael was looking at my files. They were taking the organs in Mansfield from the homeless. Esposito was removing them, and someone else was transporting them here to get shipped to the Philippines, all run by the Iacconas.” I took a deep breath to let it all sink in. “They killed Niccolo because he knew and was going to tell Michael. They killed Michael because they thought he already had evidence against them.”

  “Jesus…” Joseph mumbled. “Those motherfuckers. ” He sat up straight. “Heads up again, they’re leaving.”

  The van began to pull away but got stuck in the soft ground. Since they were trying to pick up the organs covertly, they hadn’t used a regular loading dock. Instead, they tried to drive on the soft snow-covered ground. We watched as they spun the tires, spewing mud everywhere, until the driver got out of the truck. I still couldn’t see his face. He placed something under the tire as Esposito drove it out of the rut, throwing mud all over the man. While we watched them drive away, Joseph startled me.

  “Listen to me carefully. There’s a club in the Warehouse District in Cleveland. It’s called Club Siesta, at the corner of West Sixth Street and Saint Clair. In the back, there are several VIP rooms. Meet me in the one next to the restroom tonight at eight sharp.” He opened his door to get out. “Make sure you’re not being followed.”

  “Wait a minute! Joseph, what are you doing? Get in the car!” I was panicked.

  “Trust me, CeeCee. Don’t worry, I’ll get back. Just be there! Now go!”

  As I drove away from the warehouse, Joseph ran toward it. I couldn’t imagine what he was doing.

  When I was almost a mile away, I heard an explosion in the distance. I saw the large ball of fire rise into the air in my rearview mirror.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Not knowing if it was safe to go back to my motel room, I took my chances and left the car running as I ran inside and grabbed my things. All I could think about was Joseph and if he was okay. The large explosion would’ve destroyed the entire warehouse. I just hoped he’d made it out in time. The Iacconas and their business practices had been revealed tonight, and it made me angry. Everything that had happened to the unfortunate victims in Mansfield, to Joseph’s brother, to my children, Sean, and to me was all due to nothing but the insatiable greed of Salvatore Iaccona.

  Crazy mad, I pulled out of the motel parking lot while my eyes fell to a file on my passenger seat. The file contained the home address of Singin’ Sal.

  He was running toward the fiery remnants of the warehouse on Washington Street when Agent Gary Nicholas ran up on him from the right.

  “Wait! What are you doing? You can’t go in there!”

  “Get the fuck back, I’m going in.” He started walking now. “You fucked up and waited too long! I told you to get here quickly, and now…” He didn’t want to think about the possibilities.

  “They’re not here!”

  He spun around, facing Agent Nicholas, making sure he heard him right. Agent Nicholas was breathing hard, the cold air making his breath look like large puffs of smoke.

  “How do you know that?”

  “We found their motel rooms. Keith and Steve are there now. We just missed her by a few minutes when she checked out. Filaci’s things are still in his room, so we don’t know where he’s at, but he’ll probably meet up with her later.”

  “Keep on that goddamn room and see if he comes back. If he does, don’t lose him! He’ll take us right to her, I’m sure of it.” He paused. “Something must’ve gone wrong, so they had to split up.”

  Not an overly religious man, he found himself praying like he’d never prayed in his life.

  Salvatore Iaccona lived in a modest neighborhood on the west side of the city. I turned my headlights off and circled the street several times before parking a few houses down from his. Sal’s house was dark, but that was fine. I would wait.

  Carrying only my gun, I miraculously found an unlocked back door. Beyond caring if any evidence was left or if I was seen, I strode into the darkness of the kitchen and took a few minutes to allow my eyes to adjust. It was a ranch-style home. I walked down the sole hallway, opening doors in an attempt to find Sal’s bedroom. It was the last room at the end. I unscrewed all of the lightbulbs in the room, opened a window, removed the screen, and took a seat in a comfy chair by the bed. Then I waited.

  It was over two hours, and almost daylight, when I heard the garage door open. Stiffening in my chair, I prepared myself for a confrontation like no other.

  Sal came right to his bedroom. As the door opened, light from the hallway flooded in, but not on me. Sal was feeling for the light switch along the wall while I held my breath. Finding the switch, he began flipping it up and down, cursing as the room remained dark. Now it was my turn.

  “Have a seat,” I said calmly from the darkness of the room.

  “What the fuck? Who is that?” He began to reach inside his coat pocket.

  Racking the slide on my gun loud enough for him to hear it, I gave my second order.

  “If you don’t want a hole in your head, take your gun out slowly and slide it across the floor toward the sound of my voice. Then have a seat in the chair by the dresser.”

  Sal did as he was told and slid his gun toward me, where it stopped at my feet. I didn’t move. After he had taken his seat, I pulled a cigarette out of my pocket and lit it, providing enough light for him to see my gun…and my face.

  “Mrs. Gallagher, I presume.” He gritted his teeth.

  “It’s Hagerman, Mrs. Hagerman, the wife of the man you killed,” I said while blowing out a substantial amount of smoke at him.

  He began to laugh, which infuriated me to the point my finger found the trigger of my gun. But I wanted some answers first, and I wanted him to know what I’d done.


  “Tommy certainly didn’t laugh like that when I stuck a letter opener in his neck and dumped him in the bay. I wonder if you’ll still be laughing when I do the same to you.”

  He stopped laughing and leaned forward. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, lady, but I really hope you enjoy that cigarette. It’ll be your last.”

  “You didn’t plan on me finding Frank, did you, Sal? Nor did you plan on your warehouse going up in flames. It’s a shame really. As pissed off as you were in your office yesterday, I thought for sure you’d take out Henry, too. Especially since I told the cops he was the one that killed Frankie boy.” I let my cigarette drop on the floor and stamped it out with my foot. “Unfortunately, for you that is, your business is over. No more organs for the Philippines, no more homeless murders, and no more Iacconas. You see, Sal, the feds will have everything by tomorrow. You’re finished. Not that you’re going to be around to see it all, because I’m going to kill you, here, shortly.”

  He smiled again. “Did you enjoy watching your husband burn, Mrs. Hagerman? I know I did—”

  We were interrupted by the sounds of footsteps walking down the hallway. I hadn’t expected or planned for anyone else.

  “Petey! In here, my room! Hurry!” Sal screamed before diving behind his bed fast enough that I couldn’t get a shot at him.

  The footsteps quickened, and I was at the window as the large figure loomed in the doorway. With no time to aim, I fired a shot toward the figure, who ducked behind the door frame. Wood fragments and splinters sprayed the room from where the bullet hit. Before anyone could react, I was diving through the window, falling onto the snow-covered ground.

  “Pop! You okay?” Petey Iaccona yelled, making his way to his father.

  “I’m okay, I’m okay!” Sal sat up and brushed the wood fragments from his coat.

  “I’m going after her.” Petey started toward the door.

  “No! Wait!”

  “Wait? Why? Who was that?” Petey found the light-bulb next to the nearest lamp and screwed it in before turning it on.