Cozy Up to Death

by Colin Conway

  Would he tell them about the two Satan Dawg’s prospects? Beating them and locking them in the basement was an abnormal reaction for Bookkeeper Beau Smith, but not calling the cops for help felt quite reasonable.

  And what about Jimmy the Pump? Should he tell the lawmen about his demise? He killed the man in self-defense but dumping his body in the ocean and scattering various pieces of evidence around the Maine countryside was suspect. Those weren’t the actions of an innocent man.

  Another thought entered his mind. The Dawgs knew he was in Pleasant Valley because the mob was onto him.

  Brody slowed his walk.

  How? he wondered. How did the mob get onto me?

  At first, he thought it was because they had discovered Alice. If she was alive, maybe they hadn’t recognized her. Then how did they find him?

  Would they have seen his picture on the FBI Rats website without seeing Alice’s? Was that possible? It was not possible, Brody finally decided. It was highly unlikely.

  Therefore, they had found her before his arrival. That meant when she disappeared, and he showed up, they would have already assumed the bookstore was a U.S. Marshal cover. They would have made him from the get-go. Using the FBI Rats website would have made it easy for them to put the pieces together and discover who he was.

  So maybe Alice discovered the mob was onto her and she figured she had to slip out of town. But if that were the case, she would have told U.S. Marshal Onderdonk. Instead, she disappeared.

  And he thought he knew why.

  He was lost in thought as he arrived at the grocery store.

  The same sickening Muzak was playing as before, and the irritatingly bright lights shone down on the shiny tiled floors. A crowd of people gathered at the front of the store.

  Brody approached the group which had formed a semi-circle around the cashier, Aaron, who was sitting on the ground. His nose was bleeding, and he held a hand over his left eye.

  “What happened?” Brody asked.

  The crowd of workers and shoppers parted when he spoke. They all seemed to relax now that someone was there asking appropriate questions.

  “A couple men came in,” Aaron said, “and they took Daphne.” He was no longer snotty toward Brody.

  “What did these men look like?”

  “One of them looked like a real hoodlum. A motorcycle type. He was smelly, too.”

  “And the other one? Was he a fat guy in a tracksuit? The owner of Il Cuoco Irato?”

  Aaron’s one open eye peered at him like he’d lost his mind. “No. He was a handsome type, dressed in slacks and a club shirt.”

  “Tall and thin?” Brody asked.

  Aaron nodded with his right hand still pressed to his eye.

  “Did he whistle while he walked?”

  “He sure did. He punched me in the eye then whistled as he left the store.”

  A siren wailed from outside. The crowd turned to watch Constable Emery Farnsworth’s bicycle skid to a stop in front of the building.

  “Wait here,” Brody said to the group. Nobody thought about challenging his order.

  He walked outside and met Emery as he dismounted his bike and switched off the siren. The officer eyed him with contempt.

  “How am I not surprised to find you here?” Emery said.

  “A couple of guys grabbed Daphne,” Brody said.

  The officer froze. “What?”

  “You’ve got a mob operation in town. The Italian restaurant.”

  “That’s not true,” Farnsworth said, “and that’s dangerously close to profiling.”

  “They’re laundering money through the restaurant. I don’t know how, but they are.”

  “Laundering money? Is that why they took Daphne? Do they need a bookkeepah?”

  “They took her because of me.”

  Emery’s lip curled. “What did you do?”

  Brody had already lied about being a naval officer and a SEAL, so he figured another wouldn’t hurt at this moment. He lowered his voice. “I’m an FBI agent.”

  “You’re with the FBI?” The officer’s eyes swept over Brody. “Show me your badge.”

  “I’m undercover. I don’t have it with me.”

  “Right.”

  “Don’t be an idiot, Emery. That’s why James De Luca attacked me. He found out I was an agent.”

  “Is that why you killed him?”

  “Stop it,” Brody said. “I would imagine his boss wasn’t happy that he brought attention to their operation by fighting with me. I bet he killed him because he got sloppy.”

  “That’s a convenient story.”

  “Sometimes life is convenient,” Brody said.

  Emery’s face scrunched. “What does that mean?”

  “It means the mob knows I’m watching them, and they know I’m seeing Daphne.”

  “So they take Daphne to make you, what, go away? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “They grab her to make me come to them.”

  “Oh.”

  “I need some back-up. Will you help me?”

  “Help... you?”

  “Yes, Emery. I need your help. The FBI needs your help.”

  When the understanding that the Federal Bureau of Investigation needed his help dawned on Constable Emery Farnsworth, he slowly smiled, and his eyes widened.

  “Let’s go,” Brody said.

  They ran to Second Avenue and rounded the corner. Il Cuoco Irato sat in a few buildings. Suicide Mike’s motorcycle, Brody’s former ride, was brazenly parked in front of the little restaurant.

  “Wait here,” Brody said.

  “I should go with you,” Emery said. “You don’t even have a gun.”

  “Then let me have yours.”

  The officer put his hand on his weapon. “Then I won’t have one.”

  Brody stared at him for a moment. “Fine. Keep it, but call for help.”

  “The chief is still out of town.”

  “Then call the national guard, Emery. I don’t care who you get, just get someone. There’s a lot more trouble coming, Constable. More trouble than you and I can handle.”

  Brody stepped off the curb and jogged toward the little restaurant. He opened the door but stopped immediately to take in the scene.

  Francis “Frankie the Dove” Columbo was next to the old waiter, both with their hands in the air.

  Near the entrance, two masked robbers stood with guns drawn.

  From the little hanging speakers, Dean Martin sang, “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head.”

  One of the robbers turned to Brody, shoved a revolver into the big man’s face, and said, “Get your hands in the air!”

  Chapter 35

  Brody studied the robbers. They were considerably smaller than him, and black balaclavas covered their heads down to their necks. They both wore loose-fitting jackets even though it was mid-summer.

  “Get your hands in the air!” the robber repeated, trying desperately to disguise her voice as a male’s. It didn’t work.

  Brody slowly lifted his hands as he turned his attention to Frankie the Dove and the old waiter.

  “Where’s the money?” the other robber yelled. She also tried to disguise her voice as a low male. It wasn’t any better than the first.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Dove said.

  “Where’s the money?” the smaller of the two robbers said. “We know another shipment came in on a boat a couple of nights ago.”

  Columbo’s brow furrowed. “And how would you know that?”

  The two robbers glanced at each other.

  His eyes widening, the elderly waiter glanced toward Frankie the Dove. The older man took a small step back.

  “Why are you bringing cash through the bay?” Brody asked.

  Columbo's lip curled. “You think I’m just gonna spill my plans to you? Do I look like a villain in a James Bond movie?”

  “Wouldn’t it have been easier to bring it up the interstate?”

  “Wouldn’t it have
been easier...” the Dove said in a mocking tone. “I’m not telling you squat, but you’ve all told me everything I need to know. I’ve gotta snitch in my organization.”

  “Where’s the money?” the smaller one asked again, lifting her gun higher in emphasis.

  “Somebody’s talking,” the mobster said, lowering his hands until they were on his hips. “When I find who, they’re dead. Just like the lot of you.”

  “What did you do with Daphne?” Brody asked.

  “Keep your mouth shut, rat,” Frankie the Dove said, “while I deal with these two.”

  “Daphne?” the smaller of the robbers said. Her voice sounded genuinely feminine for the first time. “He did something to Daphne?”

  Brody looked at the robber. He couldn’t make out any details due to the balaclava and the over-sized coat. They were good choices in selecting a disguise. “He took her because he’d seen us together.”

  The robber turned back at Columbo. “What did you do with Daphne Winterbourne?” she asked.

  Frankie the Dove’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know about that broad?”

  “I know if you don’t tell me, I’m going to shoot you.”

  “You won’t shoot me,” Columbo said.

  “But I will,” Brody said. “And you know that’s the truth.”

  “You don’t even have a gun, so stay out of this, bookkeepah.”

  The smaller robber looked at him. “You’re the new owner of The Red Herring?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You know Ted Onderdonk?” she whispered.

  “He’s on the way, Alice.”

  “Alice Walkah?” Columbo said. “We wondered where you went. Just when we were ready to grab you, you disappeared.”

  The other robber put her hand on Alice’s shoulder. “We should get out of here.”

  “You’re here now, Carrie,” Brody said. “See it through.”

  Carrie Fenton repeatedly blinked behind her balaclava.

  “Not only did that snitch tell you about the money coming in, but he must’ve told you about our plans to grab you. Who’s the rat in my crew?”

  “You knew about Alice?” Brody asked Columbo.

  “Of course, we knew about Alice. Or should I say, Evelyn Spier? My friends have been looking for her for a long time. You got some dues to pay in the Windy City.”

  Alice Walker handed Brody her gun. When he took it from her, Frankie the Dove’s hands immediately went into the air.

  “Hey now,” the heavyset man said, “can we talk about this like gentlemen?”

  Brody pointed the gun at Frankie the Dove.

  Alice gently put her hand on Brody’s wrist. “Do me a favor, hon.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t shoot the waiter. He’s with me.”

  Everyone looked at the older man who took another step away from the mobster.

  “You!” Columbo exclaimed. “I trusted you. I brought you from the old country, and you treat me like this.”

  “Frankie!” Brody hollered.

  “What?” he yelled, irritated by the interruption.

  “You’ve got one chance to tell me where she is. Any answer other than where she is will get you shot.”

  “Why should I—”

  The noise was deafening in the small restaurant. The older man next to Columbo flinched as the heavyset man fell to the floor, clutching his knee.

  Carrie yelled at Brody, “What did you do?”

  Alice pulled her partner back. “Let the man work.”

  Columbo writhed on the floor, clutching his leg.

  Brody walked up to the mobster and pointed the gun at him. He lifted his eyes to the old Italian first and asked, “I’m guessing you speak English?”

  “Enough,” he said in a heavy Italian accent.

  “Do you know where the money is?” Brody asked the waiter.

  “I tried to find out where they hid it, but no luck.”

  “You should join them.”

  The waiter hurried back to where the two women waited. Alice had pulled off her mask. Carrie Fenton still wore hers.

  “You’re dead!” Columbo yelled from the ground. “All of you!”

  Carrie Fenton stood near the window, peeking outside. “There’s a cop out there!” she shouted. “He’s hiding behind a tree.”

  “That’s the local constable.”

  “Emery?” Alice said.

  “He’s with me. Make sure he stays there. If he moves, yell.”

  “He’s on the phone,” Carrie said. “He must have heard the gunshot.”

  Alice suddenly appeared at Brody’s side, eyeing him. “You look like you’ve done this type of thing before. How do we get out of this?”

  “I’m gonna kill you all!” the mobster yelled. “I’m gonna kill you and your families!”

  “Step back, Alice,” Brody said, his voice calm and reassuring. “This is about to get bloody.”

  Chapter 36

  When Brody exited the building, he walked past his motorcycle and ran his hand over the ape-hanger handlebars. Constable Emery Farnsworth stepped from behind a tree and yelled, “Freeze!”

  His feet were shoulder-width apart, and he stood crouched, his arms in a V-shape as his hands cupped his revolver. It was a classic patrol officer stance. What wasn’t classic was the bike helmet tipped back on his head, the bicycle shorts, and the running shoes.

  Brody didn’t freeze. Instead, he strode toward the officer.

  “Put it down,” Brody ordered.

  Emery looked at the weapon in Brody’s hand and the blood that covered his khakis. “I’m not sure if I should lower my gun,” the constable said.

  “I’m not going to shoot you, Emery. Besides, if I wanted to do so, I would have done it by now.” Brody turned the gun he carried backward and offered it to the constable.

  Emery slowly lowered his pistol but didn’t take the gun Brody had offered. “Where’s Daphne?”

  “She wasn’t there.”

  “I heard two shots.”

  “There’s a mob boss in there.”

  “Is he...?”

  “Dead? Yeah.”

  “Crud!” Emery said and stepped off the sidewalk toward the restaurant. “Oh man, this is bad!”

  “Emery!”

  The constable turned to Brody. “What!”

  “You don’t need to go in there. The man is dead. He’ll keep until we get back. I know where Daphne is, and we need to get her. Now.”

  Emery nodded and stepped back onto the sidewalk. “Where is she?”

  “They’ve taken her to her house. They want to capture me there.”

  “Capture you? Why?”

  So Suicide Mike can take me back to the club and put me down for all to see.

  But Brody couldn’t tell the officer that. So he said, “They want to torture an FBI agent.”

  “You can’t go there,” Emery said.

  “I have to. We have to. Were you able to get help?”

  “Yes,” he said. “The state patrol is on the way.”

  “The state patrol?”

  Farnsworth nodded.

  “Great,” Brody said. “They’ll be able to write some traffic tickets when they get here.”

  As they hurried, Brody recalled what had just occurred inside Il Cuoco Irato. It took some physical pressure to get Frankie the Dove to give him what he needed. Eventually, the mobster told him about Suicide Mike and another man he referred to as The Fixer. The two men concocted the plan to take Daphne to her house.

  Brody knew why they were doing it. They believed they could set an ambush. Well, that was fine with him. Brody had lived through a couple of traps before. He had every intention of living through another.

  For a moment, he had thought about letting the mobster live. He didn’t want to kill Chloe’s father, even if he was the biggest jerk in the world to her. Maybe the guy would have a moment of clarity wherein he would realize he had missed an opportunity to love his daughter. If he killed Columbo, ther
e would never be a chance for that moment of healing.

  But then Frankie the Dove had to seal his fate by saying, “I will hunt you down, bookkeepah. If it’s my last breath, you will nevah be free from me. And I’ll kill that grocery girl, too. You can count on that.”

  He knew those words were valid. The anger and hatred that Francis Columbo felt would never diminish. He’d just shot the man in the knee, for crying out loud, and tortured him to find out where Daphne was. Frankie the Dove wasn’t the type of person to forgive and forget. Therefore, Brody had only one option.

  He already thought that he would like to stop by What’s the Point and purchase a new knitting kit. He’d only just cleared the book on Columbo, and he was feeling the stress. He still had two entries left to make.

  Suicide Mike and some heavy named The Fixer.

  They were at the end of Daphne’s block. In the afternoon sun, the neighborhood looked peaceful and charming.

  Brody inhaled deeply, smelling the ocean’s aroma. The humidity had stuck his shirt to his back. He’d only been in Pleasant Valley a few days, and he’d already fallen in love with this little town.

  Because of today’s events, he knew his time here was now limited. Once he saved Daphne, there would be no turning back. Everyone would know his story. He wouldn’t be able to keep his secret much longer.

  “What’s the plan?” Emery asked, carefully placing his hand on the Brody’s shoulder. His attention was focused on Daphne’s house.

  The big man eyed the constable. Even though he was an officer of the law, Brody sort of liked the goofy fellow. Pretending to be a citizen was messing with the former bookkeeper’s sensibilities.

  “Why don’t you go around back?” Brody suggested.

  “The back?”

  “Cover the rear of the house, in case someone comes out running.”

  “But that means you’ll go in alone.”

  “I’ll cover the back if you want to go inside alone. There’s only two of us, Emery, and we need to handle it like professionals.”

  The officer patted his shoulder. “You’re the FBI. You’ve been trained for this. If you think I should take the back of the house, well, mistah, I’ll take the back. Call me a team playah.”

  The constable jogged into the nearest yard and moved to the rear of the house. Brody waited until Emery disappeared from view.