“You think this is the rail shed heist?”
“I do. Though, I’m surprised to find Chan was in cahoots with this lot. Word on the street is that he works alone. None of this makes sense.”
“Maybe someone’s trying to frame them for it?” Parker suggested as they turned up a side alley. Ahead, a small team of uniforms were gathered around a body on the ground. Jacob stopped at the gate.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “Trying to implicate Carelli to get to Pinzolo?”
“Well, yeah. I heard he’s a bit of a big shot. Got a lot of pull in certain circles.”
“You’re not wrong there,” Jacob said. “Not my circles though.”
“Dunno, but it’s above my pay grade, I reckon,” Parker said, pulling a tall wire gate aside to let Jacob into the junk yard. A chain hung from the handle. “Carelli’s in here.”
“The gate was open?”
“Not until this morning. The caretaker came in around six. Carelli must have jumped the fence. Found him in an old jalopy.”
Parker had been right, Carelli’s wound was clean – a professional hit. Jacob left him with the coroner and wandered off to survey the area. There were scuff marks on the top of the wooden fence that separated the junkyard from the alley. On the outside, the second body was being loaded onto a stretcher. Carelli - and the guy that killed him - had certainly jumped the fence to get inside. Not an easy feat.
Crouching down, Jacob picked around in the muddy tangle of scrap metal and wood. An odd shine in the muck caught his eye. He dug his fingers in to dislodge it.
Black, smooth – the high heel from a woman’s shoe.
Peculiar, Jacob thought. I suppose someone could have thrown it over the fence. There were plenty of call girls around the area. He rummaged around a little further. About a meter away, he found its pair. What are the chances of both heels breaking off at the same time? And if they did, why not throw the entire shoe away?
Jacob thought for a moment of what Adina might do if faced with a broken heel. Would she break off the other to match? Or keep the first and find a cobbler to mend it? She’d keep it, I think. Shoes were hard to come by these days, and not often discarded. Mend and make do, he’d heard Ima say. He rubbed some of the mud off to reveal the shiny, patent leather. Especially something so new.
“They’re ready to take him out, Sarge,” called Parker from across the junkyard.
Jacob stood up and waved at him to proceed. Turning away, he pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped up the broken heels. He wasn’t entirely sure why he wanted to keep them. There was something about that black patent leather, that unsettled his gut. Just – something. And then there was Madam Trixie – hadn’t she said an Avon Lady had dropped by? Avon, again?
Jacob turned away, tucking the stuffed handkerchief back into his pocket. He didn’t notice the lipstick-stained theater ticket fall out as he began to walk, or see it flutter into the mud under his feet as he left.
Episode Six
St. Augustine’s Home for Unwanted Boys
Donald Pinzolo stood with his back to the room, looking out the window of his second-floor office to the expansive lawn below. A group of teenage boys were running laps around the inside perimeter of the fence, largely ignored by a harried looking nun with a clipboard who was deep in discussion with a colleague. A long driveway separated the front lawn into two halves, which were being attended to by a gardener. It was a glorious morning, crisp and bright. At one end of the long driveway was the gargantuan building in which Donny now stood, recently refurbished and still bearing signs of ongoing construction work. At the far end, beyond the oval, was an iron gate with a brand-new sign arched above it, declaring the property to be St. Augustine’s Home for Unwanted Boys.
Donny absently stroked the belly of the oversized ginger cat in his arms.
His benefactory, as he liked to call it, was going well. There had been no hold-ups with construction as half of City Hall owed him heavy favors, including the Mayor. His nephew, Vince, had begun training the boys in Donny’s particular manner of business to great effect, and personally kept an eye out for any kids with what he considered ‘leadership’ abilities. Overburdened Catholic nuns ran the day-to-day schooling of the three hundred or so boys in their care, with no question as to Donny’s motives or the ‘apprenticeship opportunities’ that took the boys from their beds and classrooms in shifts. They packed crates of amphetamines, sold crack on street corners and ran jobs from one end of the city to the other, each kid on a paycheck of cigarettes, candy and the promise of not being flogged. Donny had used kids as runners for years, but this – having an entire orphanage as a cover and source of labor – was an inspired move. Kids ran under the radar. They could get into places his own men couldn’t. They could hear whispers without being seen. They were useful.
Donny paid both the church and the Mayor handsomely for their disinterest in his affairs. If anything, this recent opportunity to play up his philanthropy had become a goal in itself.
Yes, the entire venture felt… promising.
With the exception, of course, of that one thorn in his side. The heists.
Donny turned abruptly at a knock on the door. He wasn’t expecting Walter Sutherland, the New York City Mayor, until seven. It was only six.
“Come in,” he barked. His men knew better than to interrupt him this early in the morning. It spoiled his concentration.
Three men entered, each one with hesitation stitched into his shoes.
“What?”
One man stepped forward with a scowl. The top part of his ear had been ripped off at some time, long past. Despite the violence carved into his scarred face, today he carried fear behind his eyes. And this wasn’t a man easily scared.
“Boss. I’ve – I’ve got news,” the man said.
“Clearly,” Pinzolo said, turning back to the sunlight. “Well, it better be good news, Felix, because I’ve got a king-sized pain in the ass for you, if it’s not.”
The two men behind Felix swallowed audibly, throwing sideways glances to one another. They’d spent the night shadowing Felix on the street, at his own demand, but now sorely wished they hadn’t. The taller one, Carmine, shuffled incrementally backward. The other, Earl, angled toward the open door.
Felix stepped forward again, shaky, but resolute.
“There’s been a situation, Donny,” he said.
“You tracked down the bastards that are stripping my heists?”
“Not yet, boss, I –” he took a deep breath. “It’s Vince Junior, boss.”
“What about him?”
“Someone took him out. Last night, at Kitty’s.”
Donny Pinzolo froze. He turned back around to look at Felix, an unreadable mask on his face. Slowly, he walked to his mahogany desk and dropped the cat onto it next to a glass fishbowl of colored gumballs. The cat leapt off the desk and bolted for the open door.
“What did you just say?” Donny said, his voice soft and unfathomably dangerous.
Felix drew his hand roughly across his own mouth. He pulled himself tall, taking a deep breath. He knew there was no room for weakness. One false move and he’d eat a bullet. The old adage of don’t shoot the messenger didn’t apply to his side of the desk.
“It’s Vince, boss. They killed him at the whore house. Vince, Travis, Sydney, The Muscle. Someone took ’em out.”
Donny stood, his eyes like flint, as if daring Felix to continue.
Felix waited, terrified his voice might crack, and give away his fear. His ripped ear, itched, as if it were still whole. Phantom nerves that no longer existed. He ignored it.
“I called in early a couple of hours ago, you know – just to see –” he paused, not wanting to mention Tilly. Donny already knew too much about her, “to get set up in the office, like you told me. I thought Vince had cleared out already. When I got there, I found his car up the street, all bent in. Like an accident, but there was no one in it.”
He paused
, waiting for some kind of sign that Donny wanted him to stop, but none came.
“So, I went in, used Trixie’s key. Syd and Muscle were in the office, not Vince though. Someone did a real nasty job on ‘em. T – one of the girls saw it too and screamed, so Trixie ran and called the cops. I had to hightail it before they arrived, so I went looking for Vince. Couldn’t find ‘im, I didn’t know where he was until just now. The girls called me. Apparently, the brass dug ‘im out of a car in the junkyard. Travis, too.” Felix braced himself. “Both dead.”
Donny didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. Felix’s eyes widened.
“I’m sorry! I swear I never thought they’d hit Kitty’s! So many witnesses, you know. I came straight here when I saw. I’d been out all night, like you told me, chasing down Bugsy’s crew. Thought they might have the dope on who’s dropping our guys.”
“And?” Donny asked, barely audible through gritted teeth.
Felix reflexively scratched his torn ear.
“Cold, boss. They got nothin’.”
“So, you’re telling me,” Donny breathed, “That some wise guy turned up at a whorehouse full of people, killed four men, and then got away without a single pair of eyes on him?”
Felix stared at his shoes. The bile was rising in his throat.
“Six, boss.”
“Six?”
“There were six men. Jimmy Chan and that dumb ninja of his. They were there, too. Both skewered with a bloody chair, right through the middle. And dope all over the desk, like at The Capitol, how they found Frank.”
“So, the same men have killed my cousin, Frankie. My boy, Marco, God rest his soul. And now, Vince. The only nephew I had left.” Donny walked forward and leaned down with both hands on his desk. His head hung, and his eyes closed. “And no one knows who’s behind it.”
“I’m sorry, boss. I’m so sorry! I’m gonna track down this son of a bitch, I swear to God. And I’m gonna rip his brains out through his asshole -”
Donny was silent. After a long minute, he spoke, restrained, like a hurricane that was being held in check by tissue paper.
“Get out. All of you.” Carmine and Earl backed away. Felix turned to leave.
“Not. You.”
Felix stopped, rooted to the spot as the two others turned quickly and left the room, flinging the door shut behind them. Within seconds, they were at the top of the stairs, heading for the basement. They paused as an almighty smash came from inside the room. Donny’s voice boomed through the walls.
“I gave you one job! I TOLD YOU TO FIND THEM!”
“I need more time,” came the desperate reply. Carmine and Earl raced down the stairs.
Inside, Felix pulled himself up from the floor, toppling over the chair that had been launched at his head.
Smash!
Colored gumballs rained across the floor as the glass bowl shattered at his feet. Donny spun around again, grabbing a heavy bronze desk lamp and hurled it at the window, which smashed and fell away in shards. Shrieks of fright sounded from the yard below.
“ONE JOB!” Donny yelled, launching toward Felix and pulling him up straight. He dragged the scarred man to his desk.
“Put out your hand,” he ordered. Donny was breathing hard through his yellow-stained teeth, his cigar-infused breath smothering Felix’s face. He pushed Felix down onto his knees in front of the desk.
“No, boss! No!”
“You ever want to see that little Kitty Kat, Tilly, of yours alive again, you’re going to put out your hand. Now.”
With tears in his eyes and his jaw set tight, Felix struggled to place his own hand on the desk before him. Behind him, the room was littered with glass and broken furniture.
Slam!
A knife came down, straight through his hand, pinning Felix to the desk. He screamed in agony. Beside him, Pinzolo’s face swam into view.
“Find. The. Bastard. Who. Killed. My nephew.”
A sweet jazz tune wafted through the house from the wireless, and found Betty sitting on the floor of Nancy’s bedroom sewing. Beside her, Figaro, the newly named stray kitten whose rescue had provided a welcome relief against George’s misgivings, patted a spool of cotton around the floor boards. Betty sang along with Bob Eberle and the Jimmy Dorsey orchestra as she snipped her scissors, following the love-sick lyrics in a clear and joyful voice.
“She’s got all the boys on the run, and oh! It’s the sweetest fun,
How she swings and dances by, to leave them all with just a sigh.”
She sang as she pushed the last little stack of hundred-dollar bills into the split side seam of her daughter’s mattress. The tune picked up into a jaunty jazz beat of brass and percussion.
“Who can catch her heart so gay, when she’s dancing all her love away,
I can’t believe those eyes of blue, don’t see how much I love her, true!”
Betty pulled a long loop of heavy-duty polyester cotton from the wooden spool and threaded a needle. Neat stitches began to close the incision she’d made.
The mattress looked a little worse for wear. The contents of Frankie and Vince’s wall safes, in addition to numerous other confiscations of drug money over the past several months, had already filled little George Junior's mattress, and now were well on their way to filling Nancy's as well. Of course, it was no good to leave money at a crime scene, ripe for the picking of any miscreant that stopped by before the police arrived, nor in fact, to leave it for the police themselves. Somehow, in some way, it would all flow back to Donny.
“Oops, how did you slip out?” Betty laughed quietly, as she found a rogue bill under her knee. “In you go.” She squished the note through the finger-sized hole still left unstitched and closed the gap, tying off her thread with a double knot and a clean snap. She wasn’t sure yet what she’d do with the money. Still, inspiration did always seem to strike her at the right time. She gathered her bits and bobs and pulled herself to her feet, straightening the bedclothes as she did so.
“What are you doing, mommy?” came a quiet voice from the doorway.
Betty’s head snapped up, surprised. Her twelve-year-old daughter had been standing so quietly, both inside her mind and out, that Betty hadn’t even known she was there.
“Gracious, Nancy! You gave me a start.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Nancy replied, pouting. “I just wanted to come and read my book for a while. George Junior is being a tattletale, I’m sick of him.” The Adventures of Pinocchio, hung from her right hand, her index finger shut inside as a bookmark.
“Georgie’s only little,” Betty chastised. “And he adores you. Just remember that, Nancy. As silly as he might seem, he’s still your brother, and that makes him one of the most important people in your whole life. If anything ever happened to your father and I, well, at least you’d have each other. Put up with him every once in a while, darling. Sometimes being silly is the best medicine.”
“Alright,” Nancy sighed, dramatically, flinging herself onto her bed.
Betty smoothed down her lemon-scalloped skirt, tucking the spool of thread surreptitiously into her apron pocket, glad to have distracted her daughter. It seemed she was, for now, none the wiser. That child is rather too clever for her own good sometimes. Betty puffed with pride. One day, she’ll need her cleverness. Not yet, though. She scooped up Figaro and plopped him onto the bed next to her daughter.
“Half an hour, dear,” Betty said, at the doorway. “Then you can come and shell the peas for supper.”
“Yes, mother.” Nancy flipped open her book, then paused, as Betty turned and began to walk up the hallway. “But Mommy, wait! You didn’t answer my question.” The girl sat up straight, crossing her legs. “Why were you sewing money inside my mattress?”
Betty froze. She blinked twice. She rearranged her surprise into a kind smile. Then she turned back around. Nancy was sitting expectantly, waiting for an answer.
“Oh, never mind me, dear,” Betty said, walking back to Nancy’s door. She lowere
d her voice to a hush. “I’m just saving for a rainy day.”
Nancy eyebrows lifted. “But, why?”
“Well, I suppose I might need it to buy a big umbrella. To keep us all safe and dry.” Betty winked. “Our little secret, darling. That’s why I put it in your room. Because you’re so good at keeping them. Read your book now. Half an hour.” She pulled the door closed behind her and paused, biting her lip. After a moment, Betty continued along to her own bedroom. She crossed to the tall window overlooking the garden and sat down on the window seat cushion. Carefully, Betty pulled the lace curtain back and looked to the sky.
It had begun to rain.
“It’s absolutely divine, darling,” Betty exclaimed, holding the new lipstick up to the light. Can you see the way it shimmers!?” Several other women around Gladys Eubanks’ sitting room gasped. A dainty blonde woman, Fannie Mae, placed a silver tea-tray amongst the cosmetics spread on the coffee table and nodded, enthusiastically.
“I want one all for myself!” Fannie said.
“It’s a lovely color,” said another woman.
“Yes, I thought so, too,” replied a tall woman with camellias pinned to the side of her curls. She turned to Betty, who was still admiring the lipstick. “I know you like to see the new stock before we get it, Betty. Of course, it’s limited, you know, so only the highest-selling representatives will sell it to start. That’s me, of course,” she added pointedly. “I suppose you’ll just have to wait until your sales pick up.”
Betty smiled, her eyes tight, and handed the sample back delicately. “I wouldn’t be too worried about my sales, Gladys, I’ve picked up a very large order for Heavenly Moisturizing Cream to four separate businesses just this last week. That’s over seventy new customers.”
Gladys’ lips soured and she leaned forward, picking up her cup of tea from the coffee table with a back so straight it might have snapped.
“Four businesses? Seventy ladies? Where do you mean?”
Avon Calling! Season One Page 16
