The Vendetta Defense raa-8

by Lisa Scottoline

  “They were good people,” Feet said. “Frank, he’d give you the shirt offa his back. Did free brick work for me and my cousin. And Gemma, my wife loved her.” His silver tooth disappeared behind the sad downturn to his mouth, and Judy realized they were all still grieving over the loss of the Lucias, despite their bravado. “They didn’t deserve to go like that.”

  Tony-From-Down-The-Block was shaking his head. “Nobody does, ’cept my ex-wife.” Feet laughed, and even Mr. DiNunzio smiled, which broke the grim mood that had fallen in the room.

  Judy leaned over. “Well, if that wasn’t an accident, but was murder, and we can prove it at trial, maybe we can get Pigeon Tony’s charge reduced. And if Coluzzi was responsible for it, I’m betting that Fat Jimmy was involved.”

  Mr. DiNunzio set his coffee cup down quietly. “Judy, I don’t think so. It had to be an accident, didn’t it? Maybe Angelo Coluzzi could get away with murder in the old country, in the old days. But here, in Philly? Nowadays?”

  Tony-From-Down-The-Block chewed his unlit cigar. “They put a bomb under Judy’s car, for Christ’s sake. I wouldn’t put it past the Coluzzis, not at all. That scum was capable of anything, and he coulda made it look like it was an accident, since it was on the expressway and all.”

  Only Feet looked grave. “I always thought Coluzzi did it. Always.”

  “Why?” Judy asked.

  “Just because. Coluzzi hated Pigeon Tony. He wanted to ruin him. Coluzzi was an evil bastard, and you know what? The next person Coluzzi woulda killed was Frankie. Frank.”

  Judy shuddered. “So we have our work cut out for us. I want you all to help, but you gotta make me one promise before I give you your assignment.”

  “What?” asked Mr. DiNunzio.

  “Nobody tells Frank,” she said. “Agreed?”

  Around the table, each of the old men nodded. Conspirators, covered with confectioner’s sugar.

  Chapter 30

  As soon as Marlene Bello answered the screen door of her brick rowhouse, Judy could see what Tony-From-Down-The-Block had meant. She was wreathed in the scent of a spicy perfume, her dark red hair was wrapped into a neat French twist, and her big brown eyes were expertly made-up. She had a cute little nose and full lips emphasized by chic rust-colored lipstick. Marlene had to be sixty, and it looked womanly on her, as if she had earned honestly the smile lines around her eyes and mouth. “Can I help you?” she asked with one of those smiles.

  “Yes. My name’s Judy Carrier, and I’d like to talk with you if I can. For just a minute.” “Ha!” Marlene pursed glossy lips sympathetically. “Honey, I used to go door-to-door myself. Whaddaya sellin’?”

  “I’m a lawyer. I—”

  “A lawyer! You’re shittin’ me! They go door-to-door now?” She shifted her weight from one slim hip to the other, in black Spandex stirrup pants that clung to shapely, if short, legs. A pink T-shirt with a scoop neck revealed a small, gym-toned waist and a soft, natural décolletage. The whole package registered as European, except for the white letters across her chest that read MARY KAY COSMETICS. “Whaddaya got? Wills, contracts, like that?”

  “No, I’m not selling anything, but I was wondering if I could come in. It’s private.” Judy felt nervous even though she had taken a cab here. Night was already falling. Her eyes swept the skinny city street. Nobody was out, and the beach chairs sat empty, in friendly little circles. The Phillies game was on, and the televisions in everybody’s front rooms flickered on the dark street like South Philly lightning. “It’s about your husband, Jimmy.”

  “A lawyer looking for Jimmy? That’s unusual.” Marlene snorted. “Anyway, he doesn’t live here anymore. And you’ll never get the money he owes you.” She began to close the door, but Judy stuck her briefcase in the way. “Nice move,” Marlene said with admiration.

  “Mrs. Bello—Marlene—please let me in. I need help, not money. I represent Tony Lucia—Pigeon Tony—against the Coluzzi brothers. I had Fat Jimmy in court yesterday, on the stand—”

  “Shit, why didn’t you just say that? Any enemy of Jimmy’s is a friend of mine.” A huge smile broadened Marlene’s face, and the front door swung wide open.

  Ten minutes later Judy was installed behind a pink mug of instant coffee at the white Formica in Marlene’s kitchen. It was the same size and shape as the DiNunzios’, but it was modern, lit coolly by an overhead fixture of Lucite. Cabinets of white laminate ringed the room, the counters were of lacquered butcher block, and the table and chairs had an IKEA style, which Judy mentioned to open the conversation.

  Marlene laughed. “Are you kidding? I don’t build furniture. Please.” She sat down, tucking a calf underneath her and letting a black leather mule slip from a pedicured foot. “So what do you want to know, Miss Judy?”

  Judy smiled. She felt cozy with Marlene, who reminded her of Mary on estrogen replacement. “To get right to it, you probably know that there is something of a vendetta going on between the Lucias and the Coluzzis.”

  “Sure, everybody in South Philly knows that, but I don’t get real involved in the neighborhood anymore, sittin’ around with the girls in the coffee klatch like I used to. I have my own business now, with Mary Kay.” Her eyes scrutinized Judy’s. “You could use a little more foundation, you know. Especially with such a dark suit. What are you wearing, on your face?”

  “Nothing.”

  Marlene’s shadowed eyes widened. “No makeup?”

  “No.”

  “It’s not just a neutral look you got going?”

  “No.”

  “You’re shittin’ me!”

  “I shit you not.”

  Marlene laughed. “No wonder it looked so natural!”

  “I’m an expert on natural. I have natural down to a science.”

  Marlene laughed again. “That’s your problem! I could make you up, make your eyes look even bigger, and bring out the blue. For you, I would go with the Whipped Cocoa on the lid and White Sand up here, on the bone.” She pointed with a crimson-lacquered nail. “You could also use a blush, you know.”

  “Lawyers don’t blush.”

  “Then you need to buy it. We have powder and crème but for you I’d say the powder. Your best colors would be Teaberry and Desert Bloom.”

  “Are you trying to sell me something?” Judy’s eyes narrowed, and Marlene smiled.

  “Of course. It shows you what a great saleswoman I am. You come to my door, and I sell you.”

  Judy clapped.

  “I’m an independent sales director now. One of only eight thousand in the country. Got my pink Caddy and everything. I more than pay my mortgage, all by myself, and it all started with a hundred-dollar showcase. You can laugh, but it’s my own business.”

  “I wasn’t laughing. Congratulations.”

  “It’s just an expression. Thanks.” Marlene smiled and took a quick gulp of coffee. “Mary Kay is the bestselling brand of skin care and color cosmetics in the United States, six years running. They’re great products, take it from me. I’m an old dog under this paint.”

  “Not at all.” Judy laughed.

  “It’s true. And I wasn’t sellin’ you. It’s just that you seem like a nice girl and I can make you look a little prettier, is all. You wanna know about it, ask me.”

  “Okay.”

  “And you could use a crème lipstick. Something neutral. Mocha Freeze. Or Shell. I’ll give you a sample before you go.”

  “Great.”

  “So what do you wanna know?”

  Judy sipped the thin coffee. “We were talking about the vendetta.”

  “Okay. I see it made the papers, but I’ve known about it for a long time.”

  “I get the impression that everybody in South Philly knows everybody else. Is that right?”

  “Yes, it’s like a small town down here. Everybody knows everybody else’s habits, their cars, their kids, their problems. True, South Philly’s only an eight- or ten-block square. It used to be all Italian, but now it’s Italian plus Viet
namese, Korean, like that, south of Broad.” Marlene grabbed Judy’s teaspoon and hers and made a shiny line. “This is Broad Street, and you don’t cross Broad for the neighborhood. North of Broad is a little different, more like a twenty, twenty-five-block square on that side. It’s mostly still Italian, but you got some black. All middle-class, pay their bills. Everybody gets along. Good people.”

  Judy blinked in wonder. “How do you know all this?”

  “It’s my territory. You gotta know the territory. Like the Music Man says.” Marlene drank her coffee again. “Then you got Packer Park, which is like a place unto itself, and the Estates, which is the same, only ritzier. That’s where the Coluzzis live, by the way.”

  Judy took out a pad and made a note.

  “Write down that the homes cost five hundred grand and up. There’s a Mercedes in every driveway. Jimmy always wanted to move there, but not me. I’m old-fashioned. I love my house. I don’t like the mob snobs there.”

  Judy smiled. “Mob snobs?”

  “Everybody knows it.”

  “Which Coluzzis live there? John or Marco?”

  “All of them, and Angelo did, too. The wife still does, they all got the same model house, same upgrades, and all. Keepin’ up with the Coluzzis.”

  Judy made another note. “So you probably knew that Pigeon Tony’s son and daughter-in-law were killed in a car accident last year, on the expressway.”

  Marlene thought a minute. “I heard about that.”

  “I’m investigating that crash, because I think Angelo Coluzzi was responsible for it, and if he was, then I bet Jimmy was, too.”

  “Frankly, it’s possible.” Marlene’s smile vanished. “Jimmy’s business with Angelo, I didn’t know much about, and honestly, I didn’t want to. I was out all the time, working and building up my business. The less I knew, the better off I was.”

  Judy sighed. “So you really didn’t know anything?”

  “Not a thing.” Marlene shook her head regretfully.

  “Do you know anything about John Coluzzi?”

  “No.”

  “About Marco?”

  “Nope.”

  “Anything about the Philly Court Shopping Center?”

  “Sorry.”

  Judy set down her pencil in disappointment. The visit had been a dry hole. Maybe Mr. D and The Tonys would find something.

  “I’d like to help you but I can’t. Me and Jimmy lived two separate lives, just in the same house. He moved out last year, but it was over way before that.”

  Maybe Judy could get some background. She picked up her pencil. “How did Angelo and Jimmy meet? Were you married then?”

  “Sure, and Jimmy was sellin’ paint at the hardware store. Angelo used to go in there and they got to be friends, then Jimmy ended up working for him, and was gone all the time. His personality changed. He turned into a big bully. He let himself go. That’s when I think he started runnin’ around.”

  “How much was he making working for Angelo, if you know? He said in court he only made fifteen thousand dollars.”

  “Yeah, right, but that’s between him and the IRS. He had to take in at least a hundred grand, but it was all cash.” Her eyes glittered with a sudden ferocity, and she pointed at Judy. “And don’t think for one minute that I took blood money, because I didn’t. I’m no hypocrite. We didn’t even file jointly. I made my own money.”

  Judy clapped again. Even though the visit was pointless, she was happy to have met Marlene. “I have to tell you, I don’t see how Jimmy could have left you. I don’t think he deserved you in the first place.”

  “Thanks.” Marlene reached across the table and gave Judy’s hand a quick pat. “I don’t think he did either, but I didn’t know it then. He moved in with his young chippy, I hear. It’s supposedly the real thing, this time.” She sighed audibly. “It was tough.”

  “I bet.”

  “Face it, the man is not good-looking. Who woulda thought? You know how I found out?”

  “You didn’t catch him, did you?”

  “In a way. On tape.”

  Judy frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I had the phone tapped. I paid a guy to do it.”

  “You tapped your own phone?”

  “Damn straight.”

  “That’s illegal. Criminal, even.”

  Marlene nodded happily. “I was out all the time and Jimmy had the place to himself. He was on the phone, making whoopee with twenty-year-olds. Sometimes he used the cell, but mostly not. I listened to the tape of him talking to the new one. I didn’t believe it until I heard it with my own ears, and then I threw his ass out.”

  Judy thought a minute. “You taped his phone calls, from when?”

  “Let’s see, he’s been out less than a year. So about six or seven months before that.” Her eyes met Judy’s, and the two women had the same thought at the same time.

  “Where are the tapes?” Judy asked, but Marlene was already out of her seat.

  A colonial rowhouse, with authentically melony brick, contained Judy’s apartment, and she stepped out of the cab in front of the house, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her briefcase tucked under the other, and a big cardboard box full of cassette tapes in both arms. Also a pink bag filled with Mary Kay cosmetics she couldn’t resist buying, in gratitude, though she had taken a rain check on the free makeover. She had to get to work.

  It was dark out, but the narrow street was full of people. Judy was for once happy to see the summer tourists crawling all over her Society Hill neighborhood, which was chockablock with restaurants, ice cream parlors, clothes and record stores, all open late. She didn’t feel safe unless she was in a crowd lately, and sometimes not even then.

  Judy glanced around. The traffic was thick, and cars moved down the cobblestone street so slowly Judy could feel the heat from their idling engines. Attractive couples and families walked hand in hand on the sidewalk. Lots of Liberty Bell T-shirts and Bermuda shorts. Ice cream in costly waffle cones and kids holding red, white, and blue balloons. Not a broken nose or a Glock among them. Excellent.

  Judy hoisted the box higher, juggled her stuff to the front stoop, and leaned the box against the door while she searched for her keys in her backpack. The box was heavy. Maybe the couple on the first floor could buzz her into the front door. She glanced at the first-floor windows, but they were dark. It was only ten o’clock. They were overworked Penn med students and probably at the hospital. Damn.

  Judy kept fishing and looked up. The second floor was dark, too. A couple of gay men who liked to say they were in the cruise business. They had to be out cruising. She dug deeper in the bag. Maybe next time she would take her keys out ahead of time, the way it said in the women’s magazines. How had she survived a car bomb? She heard a shuffling noise behind her and peeked timidly over her shoulder. Only a couple in work clothes, walking home. She finally found her key, shoved it into the lock, and pushed open the front door.

  “Down! No! No jumping!” Judy yelled, surprised. It was her puppy in the front hall. What was she doing here? How had she gotten out? She was supposed to be up in the apartment, which was locked. Wasn’t it?

  Judy’s gut tensed. She struggled to hold the cardboard box while the puppy jumped up on it, then scooted out the door past her. The street!

  “No! Penny! Come!” she shouted, dropping everything and running panicky after the dog. “Penny! Come!”

  But she needn’t have worried. Goldens chose people over cars every time. Unless the car had a tennis ball. The puppy was bounding over to greet the couple, but they recoiled when she leaked in delight on their shoes.

  “Sorry,” Judy said, when she reached the pair. “It’s not her fault, I left her all day.” She grabbed the puppy by the red nylon collar and walked her like Quasimodo back to the front stoop, nervously assessing the situation.

  Judy’s box, briefcase, and backpack lay in disarray. Her apartment was evidently unlocked. The house was completely empty, and it didn’t have the
tightest security in the first place. The only blunt instrument in her place was a wooden clog. Her only protection was a drippy puppy. No way in hell was she going upstairs.

  She unhooked the strap from her briefcase, latched it onto the dog’s collar, and picked up the box. She’d borrow tomorrow’s clothes from the office closet, if she had to. Then she gathered her stuff, moved it and the puppy to the curb, and hailed a cab.

  The girls were on the move.

  Chapter 31

  Judy sat on the conference room floor at the office and slipped the tape for January 25 into the office boom box. Penny slept peacefully on the navy rug beside her, with a tummy full of chicken lo mein. They both felt well fed and reasonably safe, given the lock on the conference room door, the double lock on the firm’s reception area, and the armed guard at the desk downstairs. Rosato & Associates wasn’t Fort Knox, but it beat Judy’s apartment, for the time being.

  She’d called the cops about the break-in, but Detective Wilkins was on the day tour this week and she’d had to settle for filing a complaint with the desk officer, who said they’d check it out when they could. He didn’t know about any follow-up on the car bomb or where her car was. So far the score was Coluzzi Family 1, Golden Lovers 0. It was against nature.

  Judy hit PLAY on the tape machine, and Fat Jimmy’s gravelly voice came on the line, by now familiar:

  JIMMY: I need that suit.

  WOMAN’S VOICE: Sir, I told you Tuesday, not Monday.

  JIMMY: So Tuesday, Monday, what’s the difference? I need it today.

  WOMAN’S VOICE: Sir, we don’t have it. We sent it out. It will be back

  Tuesday morning. You can get it then.

  JIMMY: Why the fuck did you send it out? I don’t see why you had to

  send it out. Where the fuck did you send it anyway? Camden?

  WOMAN’S VOICE: No, sir, our plant is in Frankford.

  JIMMY: Frankford? So get your ass inna car and go there! I need my effin’ suit!

  She hit FAST FORWARD. The tapes were hand-labeled by date, but they had been running around the clock, and Jimmy spent more time on the phone than any man in creation. Judy had started listening to them the day before the car crash, on January 25, and gone backward in time from there, in case there was any conversation between Coluzzi and Jimmy that suggested the two men had planned it. She hit STOP, then PLAY: