Duplicity

by Jane Haseldine

  A snapshot of Sal and his late wife, Joanie, a pretty little Irish girl from Livonia, as they waved on the deck of the Grand Princess cruise ship en route to the Bahamas on their first day as man and wife.

  And two photos of Nicky, Sal’s surrogate son since Joanie couldn’t have any children, boxing the other pictures in. Little Nicky during his first communion, looking almost angelic in a baby-blue suit, and Nicky and Sal in front of the cleaning business right after Nick returned from California to take over after Sal’s heart attack. As if things were really that easy.

  Sal looks at the rotary phone on the entryway table and laughs, knowing there’s no way he’d call the cops. If Nicky really ordered the courthouse bombing, Sal knows deep down he’ll have to take care of it himself. That’s what real men do.

  Sal lets his potential act settle in but is smart enough to know he needs some help checking the facts. Although the situation isn’t entirely without bias this time on her end, Sal calls one person he thinks he can trust to get him the answers he needs.

  When his call to Julia Gooden goes to voice mail, Sal grabs his long, black wool coat from the hook on the front door. Time to take care of business.

  * * *

  Julia veers off the I-75 ramp into Rochester Hills, torn between the guilt of leaving her friends at the hospital and seeing her sons for only a few minutes as she was being treated at Henry Ford for superficial wounds from her brush with Isabella Rossi. The agreed-upon plan was for Helen to keep the boys at her house until Julia left the hospital.

  Julia pulls into her driveway, thinking how luxurious a shower would feel before she picks up Logan and Will. She feels surreal as she walks in the front door and into her quiet home, knowing just eight hours earlier she, Helen, and the boys were embarking on what they hoped would be a worry-free day at Eastern Market.

  Julia pulls off her coat and peels away her sweater and jeans, then heads to her bathroom. Quick shower, in and out, and then get the boys, she tells herself.

  “Nice view.”

  Julia shudders, recalling David’s same words the day of the bombing when he saw her leaning over the computer in his office.

  Julia pivots toward the familiar voice and covers her body up with her sweater.

  “How did you get in here?” Julia asks.

  “I told you I’d meet you at your house in an hour,” Gavin Boyles says, and leans against Julia’s living room wall with his hands stuffed inside his pants pockets. “Now, please. Come over here and sit down. We need to talk. Redress at your discretion.”

  “Turn around,” she commands and bends down to pick up her jeans, her sweater still acting as a protective shield across her chest.

  Julia quickly pulls her clothes back on and studies the mayor’s chief of staff, who continues to stare straight back at Julia with one finger now delicately rubbing the port wine stain on his temple.

  “You saw me that day, didn’t you? The day you and the cops went to visit Isabella Rossi,” Boyles says.

  “Right. It looked like you were there for a press conference at the Quicken Loans headquarters.”

  “I saw you and those two cops on the street while I was getting into a Mercedes,” Boyles says.

  “Anderson’s car. How did you get in my house?”

  “Back door. It will need some repairs.”

  “You broke into my house? I want you to leave, Gavin.”

  “You don’t get to be the one in control anymore.”

  “Get out of my house, or I’m calling the cops.”

  Boyles reaches inside his suit coat, pulls out a handgun, and trains it on Julia.

  “You’re a smart girl. I figured you’d have put me with the Mercedes right away when you got the hit on the plate, but eventually I think you’d have connected the dots. And that would’ve been a big problem for me.”

  “The car was leased to Anderson.”

  “I leased the car for myself in the mayor’s name.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I have your attention now, don’t I? Destruction, violence, dead kids, that’s the only thing you and the press care about. I couldn’t get your attention before. No matter how hard I tried to get you and the rest of the media to cover the good things our office was doing, you wouldn’t. You kept on dragging the mayor through the sludge of the Rossi case because of the previous mayor’s involvement. Guilt by association. Mayor Anderson’s popularity numbers were tanking, and I had to do something, otherwise he wouldn’t have a chance in hell of winning the election in November and I’d be out of a job.”

  “What did you do, Gavin?”

  “I staged an event, a big damn event, the kind I knew the media would eat up. A horrible tragedy that rocked Detroit and brought everyone together. I got the mayor out in front of the story, and I made sure he looked like the strong, heroic leader he needed to be, just like New York mayor Rudy Giuliani after September 11. I bet you didn’t know I’m a scholar of current events. After the courthouse bombing, Mayor Anderson started getting the good press he deserved, and his poll numbers went through the roof. He went from a slapped-in replacement to a bona fide star because of what I did.”

  “You planted the bomb?” Julia asks. She stares through Boyles and instead sees the melee at the courthouse, the mangled bodies of the dead and the living, and Michael Cole, the little boy who was killed, lying on the pavement, shivering against the cold with half his leg blown off. Julia instinctively moves toward Boyles, wanting to make him pay for all the lives he snuffed out and shattered, but she stops her pursuit as Boyles lunges in her direction, closing the distance for the shot.

  “Stay where you are, Gooden, and get that disgusted look off your face. I did what I had to do. Mayor Anderson is going to pull the city of Detroit out of the hell it’s in. Most of this city looks like the apocalypse hit. The mayor is going to get people back to work. Detroit isn’t going to be a burned-out, overgrown, abandoned ghetto anymore. Sometimes people have to get hurt to ensure the bigger good is realized. That’s politics. I also leaked the story about the Butcher to Tandy Sanchez. David told the mayor about Sammy Biggs the morning they met. I wanted to plant the seed early with the article, so when the bomb went off, people would automatically think Rossi was responsible for killing the star witness who was set to testify against him.”

  “You killed little kids.”

  “And the two guys who helped me buy the bomb. I couldn’t risk that they’d identify me.”

  “I read about the missing campaign money in the mayor’s account. Was that you?”

  “I didn’t think anyone would notice that the money was gone. It was such a small amount in comparison to what Anderson had raised. I blamed the campaign finance director, and Anderson fell for it. And with your bulldog belief that Nick Rossi was the bomber, you did a superb job of keeping the police off my trail.”

  Julia stares at the fireplace poker just three steps away from her and tries to figure out how she can distract Boyles so she can grab it.

  “What are you going to do to me? Make it look like I committed suicide?”

  “No. The police will think one of Rossi’s men killed you for taking out his wife. You never made it easy for me, did you? Having to whore myself every day for you to bite on one of my pitches. You wouldn’t even help me with the mayor’s advertising campaign when your own husband was a victim. You’re no better than me, and you never were.”

  Boyles levels his gun at Julia, ready to pull the trigger. Outside the front door, a board creaks on the porch, and Julia makes her move as Boyles turns his head toward the distraction.

  “Who the hell are you?” an older man’s voice warns in a calm but threatening bass as the front door opens.

  Julia makes it as far as the hallway and turns to see Salvatore Gallo now standing in her living room.

  “He’s the bomber!” Julia says.

  “You sure?” Gallo asks. He stands immobile with his hands still stuffed in his coat pocket, and his eyes burn dark a
s they stare at Boyles.

  Boyles jerks his gun away from Julia and points it at Gallo.

  “She’s correct. Wrong place, wrong time, old man,” Boyles says.

  Before Boyles’s smile is complete, Salvatore Gallo draws a small revolver from his coat pocket, and in one lightning-quick motion he fires, capping Gavin in the knee.

  Boyles screams and drops to the floor, his own gun falling out of his hand. Boyles stretches his splayed body and crabs across the floor as he tries to reach his gun, which now rests underneath Julia’s dining room table. Boyles claws for the weapon as Gallo lowers his revolver so it’s pointed at the head of the mayor’s chief of staff.

  “This is my city. You’re nothing more than a spineless pussy for what you did,” Gallo says.

  “Cover him while I call the police!” Julia cries.

  Julia grabs for her cell phone when a second shot rings out.

  Julia drops the phone and sees Gallo still standing over Gavin Boyles, the once political rising star, who has a fresh trickle of blood flowing from a hole just above the port wine stain on his temple.

  “Sorry. I don’t follow orders very well,” Gallo says.

  CHAPTER 32

  Julia looks at the FOR SALE sign in front of her house and exhales as she presses her forehead to the front door window, the glass feeling cool and comforting against her skin. During the past two days since the incident with Isabella at the Packard Plant and Gavin Boyles’s death, Julia tried to quiet the chaos for a moment to focus on the future. She realized that too many bittersweet memories were experienced in the house she shared with David for eight years. Sometimes, Julia feels as if David’s ghost is waiting for her just around the corner, still inhabiting the space, wanting to make amends or at least explain what he had done and why he did it.

  The smell of fresh pierogis wafts from the kitchen, and Julia follows the aroma. Helen is at her usual place over the stove, her faded blue apron wrapped around her thin waist.

  “I swear, you should patent that smell,” Julia says.

  “Another reason why you shouldn’t move,” Helen says. “This is your family home and your boys’ center. I’m just up the street if you ever need me.”

  “I’ve thought a lot about this and talked it over with Logan and Will. I think we’re all ready for a fresh start.”

  “I read the stories about David, what he did. That was not the man I thought I knew.”

  “Me neither. I think he tried to make it right in the end, though.”

  “Would that have been enough for you if he were still alive?”

  “No way. I could have forgiven David eventually, but I would never go back to him.”

  “Where will you go after the house is sold?” Helen asks.

  “I was thinking maybe closer to the city. There’s been a lot of revitalization efforts in the downtown core, and I’d like to be part of Detroit’s second coming.”

  “The city is too dangerous,” Helen lectures.

  “Everywhere is dangerous. But I think I can handle it,” Julia responds.

  “You’re a tough broad like me. That Isabella Rossi woman, if I was there at the Packard Plant with you, I swear . . .”

  “I know. She wouldn’t have stood a chance,” Julia answers. “I have a few errands I need to run this afternoon. I was thinking we all could go out to dinner tonight when I get back—you, Alek, the boys, and I. And another guest.”

  “The policeman,” Helen says.

  “Do you have a problem with that?”

  Helen studies Julia for a long moment and then shrugs her shoulders.

  “You like this man?”

  “I’ve known Navarro for a long time, and he’s one of the few people, besides you, who’s never let me down.”

  “Fine. Bring Mr. Ray along then. But if he insists on paying the bill, please tell him Alek will order the most expensive item on the menu.”

  The front doorbell rings, and Julia peers through the curtain before she opens up, her paranoia still fresh after her encounters with Isabella Rossi and Gavin Boyles.

  Julia unlocks the deadbolt and lets Salvatore Gallo inside.

  “I hope you don’t mind me dropping by like this,” Gallo says.

  “No. It’s fine,” Julia says.

  Julia leads her unexpected visitor into her living room and motions for Gallo to sit down across from her on the couch. Helen pokes her head into the doorway from the kitchen, looking at Gallo suspiciously as if she were about to shoot him with a poison dart.

  “Helen, we’re fine. He’s a friend.”

  Helen offers up one last “don’t even try it” look at Gallo and disappears back into the kitchen.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon,” Julia says.

  “I just got out about an hour ago. The police decided not to file charges against me. They agreed I acted in self-defense. It’s a whole different story if the grand jury decides to take a closer look.”

  “Even if the case goes to trial, I think any jury would have a hard time finding the guy who killed the Detroit bomber guilty.”

  “Nothing is guaranteed. One promise I’ll give you, if charges are filed against me at a later date, I won’t ask you to testify on my behalf. You owe me nothing for taking out Boyles. I heard you told the cops I acted in self-defense, that I was trying to protect you and then that kid from the mayor’s office tried to shoot me.”

  “That’s what happened.”

  “You didn’t tell them about the second shot I took at Boyles, that he was already down when I did it.”

  “As I recall, Gavin was reaching for his gun after it fell on the floor. Honestly, that’s what I remember.”

  Gallo gives Julia a slight nod of respect.

  “Why did you come here the day Boyles tried to kill me?” Julia asks.

  “I had a question I needed your help with.”

  “What’s the question?” Julia asks.

  “It’s been answered.”

  “I’m sure you talked to your nephew since you’ve been out.”

  “I got kicked loose about an hour ago, so no.”

  Julia tries to suppress a surprised look, but she’s sure Gallo can read her regardless.

  “I’ve got updates on Rossi if you want to hear them.”

  “Go ahead,” Gallo says.

  “Your nephew is going to face trial for trying to bribe my husband and attempted murder. The cops tell me his attorney, Tarburton, is pointing the finger at Enzo Costas and Jim Bartello for orchestrating the whole thing.”

  “Blaming two dead men who can’t answer for themselves. That’s a coward’s way out.”

  “Can I ask you something personal?”

  “Shoot,” Gallo answers.

  “Are you going to cover for your nephew if he asks you to again?”

  Sal takes out a folded white handkerchief from his pocket and dabs his forehead.

  “You can take off your coat,” Julia says.

  “I won’t be staying. And, no. I won’t be providing Nicky an alibi, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Why did you come here this time?” Julia asks.

  “That thing you said to me back in the restaurant when you were trying to get information from me that would tie Nicky to the bombing. You said just because someone is family, it doesn’t buy loyalty. When I was a kid, my dad, my uncles, my grandfather, they all said family was everything. You protected it to the death.”

  “Sounds like you had a much better foundation than I did.”

  “Your sister really tried to hustle you?” Sal asks.

  “Yes. She learned her tricks from my father. He was the best.”

  “What did you do when your sister turned on you like that?”

  “I kicked her out of my house, and the cops paid her a visit to make sure she wouldn’t bother me again.”

  “You feel guilty about it?”

  “Not at all. If people do wrong and refuse to change or if they hurt you purposely with no remorse, cut
them out of your life. You’re allowed. You can’t try to perpetuate a relationship with a bad person because of blood or shared children or family ties. They’ll play on your kindness and try to make you believe they care about you, but if they really did, they wouldn’t keep doing things that cause you pain. If I’d known what David was doing, I would have told the police.”

  “There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth,” Gallo says, and stands up from his chair. “Sorry about your husband.”

  “He fooled me. At least with your nephew, I imagine he never pretended to be someone he wasn’t.”

  Gallo takes Julia’s hand and gives it a light kiss. He makes his way to the door, and Julia watches the older man cut a straight and certain path toward the street. Gallo pauses before he reaches the gate and turns back one more time to face Julia.

  “Family’s a bitch,” he says.

  * * *

  Julia feels like a regular now at Henry Ford Hospital and confirms her status when the gift shop clerk refers to Julia by her first name. She selects a bouquet of flowers, the only somewhat manly ones in the bunch that aren’t pink and laden with lacy baby’s breath, and then grabs two magazines, Esquire and Maxim, she knows her friend will like. The matronly gift shop clerk studies the barely clad woman on the cover of Maxim, and Julia offers up a shrug.

  “It’s for a friend,” Julia explains as the clerk quickly stuffs the magazines into a plastic bag.

  Julia slips inside her friend’s hospital room. Russell sits upright in his bed wearing his pair of drugstore reading glasses and is engrossed in a slew of paperwork that sits on his lap.

  Russell starts to get up when he sees Julia but winces in pain from his injuries as his body shifts in the bed.

  “Don’t you dare get up for me. Stay where you are, you,” Julia commands. She moves to Russell’s side and kisses him on the cheek.

  “Nice posies,” Russell says, and nods his head at the bouquet of flowers.

  “I know you have a softer side buried way down deep in there,” Julia answers, and dumps the men’s magazines out of the gift store bag and onto the side of the bed next to Russell.