When we had finished and cleared, Jon leaned back in his chair and eyed me speculatively.
“We need to talk about the Scarpellis. Both of them.” He tipped his chair down.
Belle rose and headed toward the bedrooms.
“You, too. Don’t even think about skipping out tonight.” He pointed at Belle.
Lucille smiled her usual beatific smile and sat with a sort of vacant look in her eyes. I was beginning to realize Lucille’s facial expression and her brain activity were extremely separated. I suspected her mind was two steps ahead of mine at all times.
Belle returned to her chair and sat.
“I’m having trouble fitting some of the pieces of this father-daughter relationship together. I need to know more about what she said to you at the hospital.”
I thought about her comments. Was she dealing with reality if she thought she could oust her father? He’d been in business a long time. Those kinds of loyalties weren’t built fast or easily. Maybe she wanted an entry into the male-dominated hierarchy. Her father didn’t seem overly concerned about the disc being in the hands of the police. The most it could do for the police was tell them who to watch, inside and outside the blue brotherhood. They couldn’t bring it into a court of law. Anyone could have put it together for any reason.
Lucille refocused her eyeballs and turned to Jon. “What we have is three shootings: Horace, Susan’s husband, and Lester Cardozzo. We have Honey’s apartment trashed. We have Belle kidnapped. We have a visit from Mr. Scarpelli. Maybe the motivations for the shootings are unrelated and the rest of the incidents are collateral damage to something we don’t know about.”
At the mention of Mr. Scarpelli, Jon frowned. He was still mad we’d let him into the house. I wasn’t sure how I felt about being collateral damage.
“We have a confrontation with Susan and you have the disc,” Lucille finished.
“I think we know why Susan shot her husband, the first time anyway,” Belle said.
“And are we going to share this?” asked Jon.
“Keep your pants creased, pal. Yeah, we can share. Susan said her husband was stepping out on her. She didn’t seem to like him anyway and he wasn’t very good where it counted.”
“Did she say whether she hired someone to kill him? As long as she was confessing to you, I mean,” Jon asked politely.
I coughed. “She wanted him to know she could get to him anywhere, any time, so she picked the most public, secure place she could think of. It worked. He was terrified of her. He embezzled money from her father to get away. And ended up dead anyway. We know she didn’t actually kill him. But Scarpelli Sr. couldn’t have been happy about his money being embezzled,” I added. “She also said Horace was shot by accident. That’s what Belle’s friend said. He went flying through the window when he tripped off a skateboard. Lester overreacted a bit and nailed him between the eyes.”
Jon drummed his fingers on the table. “So, Lester’s murder was, possibly, just house cleaning by Scarpelli. And, thank God, not in my jurisdiction.”
Lucille said, “So that accounts for all the bodies. But why is Susan still threatening Belle and Honey? I think the taxi company is at the center of it. Susan didn’t come after Belle until Belle started driving for Cool Rides. And they went after Honey before they went after Belle. So, the disc was only part of Susan’s motivation.”
“Maybe the disc was a fuckup by Susan. Whatever was on it pissed her father off. Now she’s trying to redeem herself,” I said, “and let’s not forget she’s crazy. Lucille is right. Susan said stuff about using Cool Rides. I think she and Daddy may have a difference of opinion over that. But it does seem she wants to take over the Scarpelli operations and Scarpelli Senior is resistant.”
“We just have to find her,” Jon said. “I got a search warrant for her office. That wasn’t easy. Attorneys are more protected than a Wall Street banker. She may not have killed anyone yet, but I think she could get away with it if she decides to.” He grimaced. “She seems to have lost her boundaries. We may be dealing with psychological issues that go beyond family fights. You and Belle need to take this more seriously.”
I had passed beyond serious and advanced to hysteria mode, but my coping mechanism has always been to put on blinders and pretend to be normal. If Susan Scarpelli could walk into a courtroom and shoot someone, she could get to me whenever and wherever she wanted to. I sometimes felt like I had the street smarts of Bambi. Susan hadn’t had much luck yet, so maybe she was due.
“How does Scarpelli make a living?” Everyone looked at me blankly. “Everyone has to file a tax return. What’s he claim as his income source?”
Jon grinned. “Porta Potties. He has some trucks and a bunch of shit houses. He moves them around to construction sites. The feds have looked at his books. Never found anything they could nail him for.”
“What about that guy you busted at Salvo House? The one the senior citizen brigade wrapped up. They said he was driving Porta Potties with white powder.”
“Corn starch. But we wanted him to answer a bunch of other questions, so thanks for loaning out your duct tape,” said Jon.
“So, then, what’s his real source of income?” I asked again.
“Transportation.” Jon leaned back in his chair. “He owns the Route 91 corridor between Hartford, Connecticut, and the Canadian border. Northampton is a big stop because of the five colleges. He doesn’t actually deal. He just transports and distributes it to the second-tier dealers.”
“We have that in common. I’m in the transportation business, too. Just more legitimate. And limited to people.” We all pondered that for a minute. “What’s he use to move stuff now?”
“We’ve never been able to get a handle on it. Maybe his trucks, but we’ve used every excuse to stop and search and never found anything. No one ever volunteers for that duty. Moving shit in Porta Potties would make some sense. Might damage the product. Not that the crack heads would notice.” Jon sighed. “I guess I better talk to Willie tomorrow. Lucille may be right. Scarpelli needs to expand, and Cool Rides would be better cover than any of the other companies because it’s so squeaky clean. Did Willie ever mention any pressure being put on him?”
“Not to me, but Mona would be the one to ask. She and Willie are pretty tight. They share a lot,” I said, glaring at Jon. “Susan sure thought she was putting pressure in the right place.”
Jon looked at Belle. “What about the other cab company?”
“Lucky’s Limo? All I ever did was get rides to Holyoke and Springfield. Sometimes with Horace. Sometimes not. They never stopped anywhere else when I was in the car.”
“Did Horace stay with the car or get out with you?”
“He usually stayed with the car. They would just drop me off. I called for a pickup when I was done. I don’t know where they went.”
“So, we have a mobster who controls illegal goods on the interstate. There’s family in-fighting about who’s in charge and how to expand. We have a lot of threats against a taxi company traveling that interstate. And no proof of anything more sinister,” said Lucille.
“Susan slapped me around. They took me against my will.” Belle’s voice went up a notch and her chin rose.
“They threatened me with a gun,” I added.
“At least one of the guys who threatened you is dead. Safe to assume he was the one who shot Horace. He’s not in my jurisdiction anyway. We’re left with Susan’s husband. She’s got an alibi. Daddy’s cleaning up her mess.” Jon drummed his fingers again. “What’s on your agenda tomorrow?” He looked at me and then at Belle. Maybe he had finally given up on the control issue.
“I’m driving. Belle and I could still stick together. Cuts into the income, but we might both survive to spend it.”
“Yeah, I’m up for that,” said Belle.
We had lots of theories about the murders but no proof of anything there either. Talking to Mona and Willie might help. Northampton, apparently, had more drug problems tha
n most of its well-heeled, well- educated and non-addict population realized. Mona found hypodermic needles in the flowerpots in front of the Cool Rides on a regular basis. I saw an occasional junkie nodding off uptown. Once in a while there was a drug-related death reported in the local news. But most of the drug problems had stayed to the south, in the larger cities. Drug use was moving north and the police wanted to know who was delivering it.
Lucille decided it was bedtime and went next door. Belle said she had a book and disappeared into the bedroom.
Jon’s cell phone rang. “Stevens.” He sighed into it. It had been a long day and his was probably about to get longer. “Yeah, okay.” Police lieutenants had to be available for a lot of hours.
It was a domestic violence with a restraining order and a warrant out on the woman involved. She wouldn’t leave her boyfriend’s apartment and patrol had called for backup.
He rose and went to the door. “Don’t wait up.”
My existence was becoming emotionally taxing. Understanding Susan’s psychotic reasoning was way beyond my capacity. My brain needed a rest. I headed for bed.
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning, I was considering my choices for breakfast when my cell phone rang.
“Where are you?!” Mona barked. “I got rides coming out my ears. It’s almost nine o’clock!”
“I’m on my way.” I glanced at the clock, which said eight-thirty. I guessed time was relative.
Belle was leaning against one of the cabs when I arrived at work. “We got a special for the airport. That means both of us. You can ride shotgun and do the special part since my driving is so much better and you look like you might’ve gone shoe shopping to put a smile like that on your face.
“Hunh,” I muttered but I was feeling good about having my apartment back, and I hadn’t had a fight with Jon in almost twenty-four hours.
“Who’s the special?”
“Elvira Snodhour. Lucille told her about our service and also told her, and I quote, ‘you’ve got more money than God, Allah, and Buddha combined so don’t be such a tightwad.’ She doesn’t usually use us but the cheap guys don’t do the special consideration and she says she’s getting too damn old to roll a wheelchair through crowded airports herself. She can’t run over enough toes and her new cane is heavier because they don’t make them the way they used to, so whacking shins has become burdensome from many viewpoints. Lucille told all this to Mona and said that ‘Miss Snodhour could be difficult.’ You get to push this happy camper through security.”
“I could drive, you could do the pushing,” I said.
“Nah, you’re too happy to drive. I’m still grumpy. Anyone cuts me off, I’ll just run them into a bridge. Mrs. Elvira Snodhour will bring you back into reality. You’ll be grumpy by the time we get back.”
“Oh joy,” I slid into the passenger seat.
We picked up Elvira at the retirement home in the independent living section. I found her in the lobby acting like an angry potentate about to lop off some unlucky peon’s head. Squat and round with short white hair and an eternal frown on her wrinkled face, she looked like Buddha in need of lots of cosmetic surgery.
The receptionist came out, clearly relieved. “Oh, I am so glad you’re here. She came down early to wait for you. I know what was wrong with last night’s dinner, this morning’s breakfast, her children, her siblings, every employer she ever had, and then she started on national politics.”
I pushed Elvira out to the cab, helped her into the back and checked her seat belt. I jogged the wheelchair to the lobby.
“Good luck and have a happy ride,” said the receptionist, smiling grimly.
I trotted out, buckled in, and gave Belle the thumbs up.
The complaints started before I got my seatbelt fastened. “And don’t expect any tip. It’s highway robbery to take advantage of an old lady. Just because we aren’t as smart as a telephone these days doesn’t mean we’re stupid. And after I pay all those income taxes there’s nothing left to pay for this stuff. You young people just don’t know how to work these days. And you have no respect.”
It was going to be a long ride.
“And you better not be like that other company. They stop everywhere and pick up anybody. I refuse to tolerate other passengers.”
I sank down in my seat, hoping if she didn’t see me she might stop complaining. Belle was ignoring her because Belle was plugged into her music.
“I will never use that company again.”
She ranted the entire forty-five-minute trip. She criticized the airlines as I pushed her to security. She didn’t like their taste in carpet, paint or interior decoration and she especially didn’t like their taste in wheelchairs.
“Cheap and slapped together. It’s a wonder it doesn’t fall apart under me.”
By the time I left her in the waiting area, I was looking around for something to whine about myself.
When I got back to the car, Belle unplugged herself from the music.
“Holy cow, shoot me now before I turn into her,” she said. “I need some comfort food.”
“I thought you were in music land and couldn’t hear her.”
“Honey, God could hear that woman and God is a long way away. And, did I mention, I need comfort food?”
We got back on the highway and Belle pulled in behind a truck keeping an even sixty-five miles an hour. We had seen three radar traps on the way down, so we were minding our manners. I was dreaming of all kinds of junk food when a late model Corvette screamed by. It was arrest red and had to be doing ninety. The cops would be busy chasing that Vette and wouldn’t even notice us.
“There’s my rabbit,” said Belle and picked up the pace to seventy-five. Any experienced driver looked for a distraction for the speed traps. Belle was picking up the lingo of professional driving.
Sure enough, just before the Northampton exit, we saw the blue lights flashing and the Corvette’s driver was scrambling to talk the cop out of a whopper of a ticket. We tootled by at seventy and pulled off the interstate. Anyone buying a car in that color shouldn’t have broken the law or, at least, should have had a savings account dedicated to speeding tickets.
“The wolf got your rabbit.” I grinned.
“Yeah, and I need donut holes. That way I can eat more and not get so full.” We swung by the drive-through at Dunkin’ Donuts and arrived at Cool Rides with a box full of holes. Mona popped a chocolate one in her mouth as the phone rang.
“Fool Rudes,” she mumbled with a mouth full of comfort. She grabbed a bottle of water and swallowed hard. “Where are you and where would you like to be,” she sang out, her mouth sort of empty.
“I’d like to leave a message for Belle.” We could all hear the voice on the other end of the phone.
“This isn’t a message service, it’s a taxi company. Perhaps I can be of assistance.” Mona was using her best I’m in charge here voice.
“This is Judge Witherspoon. I’d just like to leave my personal phone number for her to call.” The voice matched Mona’s in charge attitude.
“Oh, well, I’ll be happy to pass that along to her,” Mona said as Belle backed out the office door. Mona jotted down a number and tore off the paper. She hung up and we followed Belle outside.
“So, what’s this about?” asked Mona.
“He’s just some guy we picked up and brought to the courthouse. I assumed he was there as a defendant.” She looked at me. “And don’t act as if you weren’t thinking the same.”
“I know who Judge Witherspoon is!” Mona gave us both a withering look. Mona knew everyone and everything that ever happened in town. And what she didn’t know she would soon. “Why does he want to talk to you? And why do you get his personal number?”
“We sort of hit it off during the ride. Then I learned he’s a judge.”
“What’s wrong with being a judge?” asked Mona. “And with an ass like he’s got, who cares?”
“I care. He’s in law enforcement.”
Belle glanced at me. I thought about Jon who was about as in law enforcement as anyone could be. “And I’m not. In fact, I might describe myself as non-judgmental. And since judgmental is written into his job description, I don’t see we have much in common.”
I wondered how Mona knew about the judge’s ass. I agreed about its fine form, but he is a judge and those robes hide a lot. I understood Belle’s attitude. Jon and I would have the same problem. His attitude was if it was against the law, don’t do it. I felt like there were so many laws that if I obeyed them all I wouldn’t get out of bed in the morning. It was an ongoing source of disagreement.
“We got rides.” She pointed to Belle. “Enough for you too, and I still think you should call the judge.”
Belle held out her hand. “Just give me the ride.”
Mona slapped paper into each of our hands. I noticed she had added the paper with the Judge’s phone number to Belle’s who stared at it for a moment before cramming it in her pocket. We compared rides to make sure we didn’t want to swap. Belle got three college kids to the train station and I got a doctor’s appointment for Mary, wheelchair needed. That meant I would take the Cool Rides collapsible chair which fit in the back of our cars. Most of the cab companies have their own wheelchairs to avoid transporting the heavier ones most people have for personal use. There are some private vans that strap down the heavier ones, but they require a ramp and hard lifting. The elder van had a hydraulic lift that was the envy of everyone. But that was taxpayer funded. So, off I went with our dinky, light-weight chair. Belle grinned and took off after the college kids hoping to be the next generation of world leaders.
When I got to Mary’s house, she was waiting in her own wheelchair in the garage. We swapped chairs. I loaded her up and pushed her personal chair back into her garage. What Belle hadn’t noticed and I hadn’t mentioned was that the appointment was in Brattleboro, Vermont, my second favorite small town.
Small Town Taxi (Honey Walker Adventures Book 1) Page 18
