Don of the Dead

by Casey Daniels

  "I'm not crying." I swiped my hand over my cheeks. "Why would I be crying? Just because I sent Quinn away last night and then I found out that Dan is a dirtbag peeping torn and oh yeah, I almost got killed by good ol' Albert."

  "And have you asked yourself why—"

  "Oh, no!" I wasn't in the mood to be conciliatory. "No more questions. Not from you. Not from anybody. I'm tired of getting jerked around. I want some straight answers and I want them now."

  Gus hesitated before he smoothed a hand over his tie. "It don't matter no more."

  "Like hell."

  "I said, it don't matter and you shouldn't argue with me about it, little girl." His voice rose to meet mine.

  "And I said it matters plenty. How the hell am I supposed to solve this case when—"

  "You're fired."

  I was so stunned, it took a couple seconds for me to choke out, "What?"

  "Fired. I said you're fired." Gus sniffed and pulled back his shoulders. "Don't need you no more."

  "Like hell."

  "You said that before."

  "And I'll say it again. Like hell! You can't fire me."

  "You should be glad it's not the old days. Then I wouldn't bother. I'd just have you clipped."

  "Well, I hate to spoil your fun, but it's not the old days anymore. And if you ever had the chops… well, you sure don't have them now. You're not the don anymore, Gus. You don't have the authority. Nobody cares what you want or don't want. And that nobody includes me. I'm not quitting this case. Not now. Not ever."

  "Have it your way. It don't make no difference. You're not going to see me no more."

  And in the blink of an eye, Gus was gone.

  I stood there for a couple minutes, peering into the darkness, sure that if I looked long and hard enough, I'd see him again.

  I didn't.

  I suppose I should have been grateful. Once and for all, I was rid of Gus and the stupid investigation that had taken over my life.

  Of course, that didn't explain why I reeled, like the turf had been pulled out from under me. Or why I was so mad, I could have spit nails.

  "Oh no, buster!" I called into the night. "You're not getting away from me that easily. You can't just up and walk away. I'm not finished with you yet."

  No answer. No Gus.

  "I'm not giving back the money!"

  Even my appeal to his business sense didn't produce any results.

  "All right, have it your way." I started back toward the office and my car. "Disappear. Who cares, anyway? You've been a pain in the ass since day one." I hiccuped around the tears that built in my voice and blocked my throat. "You want to spend the rest of eternity roaming around here all by yourself, that's fine with me. Just don't come asking for help again because you know what, Gus?" I raised my voice and at the spot where the grass met the road, I spun around, aiming my comments back toward the headstones, convinced that he was hiding among them.

  "I'm not going to help. Not anymore. And once I'm gone… well, let me remind you that I'm the only one who can see you and I'm the only one who can hear you. Once I'm gone, you're out of options."

  Even that wasn't enough to shake him loose.

  "Okay. Fine." By now, I was yelling. I didn't much care. If Dan heard me… well, he already thought I was crazy. I crossed the road and ducked into the next section, weaving a path through the headstones. "Have it your way, Gus. But just so you know, I talked to Anthony."

  "Anthony?" Like the breeze that rattled the branches of the tree above my head, I heard the name out of nowhere. The next second, Gus was right in front of me. I remembered the icy chill of our last contact and stopped myself just before I slammed into him.

  "How do you know about Anthony?"

  I pulled in a deep breath, hoping to calm myself and when it didn't work, I plunged right into the fight. "I saw him," I told Gus, raising my chin and daring him to challenge me. "I talked to him. Gus, I know Anthony is dying."

  He aimed a look at me that must have intimidated plenty of wiseguys in its day. I was way beyond that. When I stood my ground, Gus cleared his throat.

  "Anthony, he don't have nothing to do with this."

  "It's not why you fired me?"

  He scowled. "I fired you because I don't need you no more."

  I snorted my opinion and poked one finger toward his midsection. "You fired me," I told him, "because you didn't want me to figure out why you're suddenly so anxious to go to that big spaghetti dinner in the sky. It doesn't exactly fit with your bad-guy image, does it? You didn't want me to know that underneath it all, you actually have a heart."

  I knew I had him there and in my mind's eye, I saw him crumble like a stale saltine.

  So much for my imagination. Instead of falling apart, Gus pulled himself up to his full height and pointed a finger right back at me. "I fired you because you work for me. I can fire you or not fire you. I can do anything I damn well want."

  "Yeah, anything but be alive."

  I regretted the words the moment they were past my lips. Not that it wasn't a great comeback. How often would I have the chance to throw a dead guy's mortality back at him? Still when Gus turned away from me, my conscience prickled.

  He stepped toward a tall granite obelisk and I followed, refusing to let him walk away. I already felt like shit. If he left with my words still hanging in the air between us, I knew I'd never forgive myself.

  "You fired me because you're a chicken, Gus," I threw the words at his back, my voice quieter now, and the tears that choked it more evident than ever. "You didn't want me to know it. You didn't want me to know that once Anthony is gone—"

  When I heard him curse under his breath, I knew I'd pushed Gus beyond his limit. He spun around fast. But whatever I expected, it wasn't the pained expression that crossed his face. Or the emotion that clogged his voice. "I fired you… " His words wavered. His shoulders drooped. "I fired you because I never meant for you to get hurt," he said.

  It took a moment for what he was saying to sink in. When it did, I realized there wasn't a sound around us except the far-off croaking of the spring peepers down by the pond at the center of the cemetery. That, and the rough noise of my own sobs. There was a huge marble slab nearby, a family marker, and I dropped down on it. It was still warm from the afternoon sun, but the heat didn't penetrate. I hugged my arms around myself.

  "You mean Albert."

  Gus shook his head in disgust. "I never would have allowed such a thing. Going after a woman… "

  He mumbled something in Italian that I hadn't learned on The Sopranos. "You should know I never meant for nothing like that to happen."

  It was as close as I'd ever get to an apology from Gus and I knew it. I also knew it meant I owed him something in return. All I had to offer was the truth.

  I pulled in a breath that fluttered on the edge of my tears.

  "When Anthony dies, you want to go with him."

  "You think?" Gus reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. He held it out to me.

  I brushed my hand across my eyes and sniffed. If there was ever a time I needed a hanky, it was now, and I would have liked nothing better than to grab it. But…

  "It's not real, is it?" I asked Gus. "At least not forme."

  He put the hanky away. "I suppose not. I just thought, you know, maybe… "

  "Thanks, anyway." I sighed, the sound of it rippling in the air. There was nothing left to say and I got up and headed to the office. I didn't bother to look to see if Gus was coming with me. Spoken or unspoken, we had a truce of sorts. I knew he was right beside me.

  "You think about why Albert tried to off you?"

  I shook my head. "I haven't exactly had the chance."

  "It must have something to do with your visit to The Family Place."

  "And Benny's dead, too."

  Maybe it came as no big surprise. Or maybe the dead have a line on such things. He nodded like he knew all along. "That makes me wonder, too. You know? Why get rid of Benny?
Why now?"

  "Benny was more talkative than the other guys. Maybe somebody was afraid that eventually, he was going to say too much."

  "About what?" Gus threw his hands in the air. "You didn't talk about nothing that mattered. You asked about my murder, they said nothing."

  "And then I mentioned Tommy Two Toes."

  Gus dismissed the idea with a sneer. "He was a nobody."

  "Then I don't know what I said to piss those guys off." We were close to the office now and before I stepped into the pool of light thrown by the security lamps on the side of the building, I looked around to make sure that Dan was gone.

  When I was certain he was, I turned back to Gus. "You know, Anthony has been praying for you. All this time."

  He pulled on his earlobe. "I figured it was his fault. All that praying, it's bound to lead to trouble."

  "He thinks it's the reason I showed up."

  "Like I said, trouble."

  "Yeah." I unlocked my car, and when I opened the door and the light came on inside, I peered into the backseat. Just to make sure the coast was clear.

  I turned and leaned against the car. "Am I still fired?" I asked Gus.

  "You worried you're going to have to give all that money back?"

  Somehow, I managed a smile. Still, I couldn't let things go like this. Before I got into the car, I looked Gus in the eye. "When Anthony goes," I told him, "you're going with him. I promise."

  He didn't answer.

  He just brought his thumb down on his index finger. Like he was shooting a gun.

  Right before he winked and disappeared.

  Chapter 14

  I made a chart.

  Gus's name was at the top of it. Below that, I wrote the names of anybody I could think of who might have had something to do with him being offed.

  I know, I know… there were probably plenty of "anybodies" I didn't know anything about. That, wasn't my problem. At least not then. I thought about the voices young Anthony Scarpetti had heard outside the garage that day, and wondered who they belonged to. I concentrated on the people I'd talked to and the ones I hadn't talked to who'd been mentioned by the people I'd talked to.

  By the time I was done, I had what looked like a family tree. Rudy below Gus and below Rudy, the names of the guys at The Family Place including poor dead Benny and my friendly neighborhood hit man, Albert. Father Anthony and Victor LaGanza had their own columns. So did Nick, the cook from Lucia's. The last column was headed with Carmella's name.

  It looked impressive.

  And got me absolutely nowhere.

  I was staring at it when there was a knock on my office door.

  "There you are!" Ella sailed in like a spring breeze. She looked like spring that day, too, a vision in yellow and orange. "I wanted to stop and talk to you earlier but I haven't had a minute to myself today. I had a meeting with Jim first thing this morning and after that, the folks from one of the local TV stations stopped by. They're planning ahead and talking about doing a segment on our Community Day in the summer. Isn't that terrific?"

  I guess she didn't need an answer. She plunked down in the chair in front of my desk and kept right on going.

  "This afternoon, we've got the trustees of the foundation stopping by." She fanned her face with one hand. "That's always stressful. And it's bound to run late. These meetings always do. That's why I figured I'd better find you now and remind you. Today's deadline day!"

  I chewed the Pretty in Pink off my lips.

  "Of course I remember." I smiled while I said it—no easy thing considering that my lower lip was still caught in my teeth. I thought back to my last conversation with Ella and how she thought I was the poster child for ambitious young women everywhere. I hated to disappoint her, but—

  "I've got to get the next newsletter completely finished by tomorrow." Ella popped out of the chair. "I'm saving space on the front page for your headstone symbolism article."

  My article.

  The one I'd completely forgotten about.

  I kept my smile firmly where it was and picked up the chart from my desk. "Almost done." I waved the paper at her and if it looked like a white flag of surrender… well, Ella didn't know that. From where she was standing, all she could see was a piece of paper covered with writing.

  She gave me the thumbs-up and dashed back to the door. "I knew you wouldn't let me down. And don't get too carried away. A thousand words ought to do it."

  A thousand words?

  The grim reality sank in. I was hoping to spend the day getting my ducks in a row as far as my investigation went. What should I do next? Who should I talk to? Who could tell me something that I didn't already know? Considering that I knew very little, that didn't seem like it would be too tough.

  All the while, inside my head, I heard the tick, tick, tick of the clock that was counting down Father Anthony's life. I knew there wasn't much time. If Anthony died and Gus was left behind…

  Back in the day before I was a pushover without a very high propensity for hallucinatory imaging, I would have laughed at anyone who said they cared what happened to a guy who had already been dead for thirty years.

  But that was then…

  I didn't even realize I was sighing until I heard the sound ripple the quiet of my office.

  Sure, Gus was a bad guy. There was no denying that or the fact that I found the whole wiseguy culture creepy, not to mention scary. But bad or not, there was another side to Gus. He didn't want me to know how frightened he was to think that Anthony might die and leave him behind. And Anthony had been praying for Gus all these years.

  I hate to admit it, but something about it all tugged at my heartstrings.

  It also made me feel responsible.

  And responsible was not a feeling I liked.

  The sooner I got my investigation over and done with, the sooner I could get on with my life. Such as it was.

  Tick, tick, tick.

  I turned down the volume of the sound in my head, punched the keys on my computer to connect to the Internet, and Googled "cemetery symbolism." I'd write the article and write it fast.

  Then…

  I took another look at my chart, picked up a pen, and circled one of the names.

  It was time to track down Carmella.

  I pulled my car into the driveway and double-checked the address. Yep, I was in the right place.

  If I needed proof, I guess that came when I got out of the car and saw the dark sedan parked across the street. I waved before I turned to examine the house.

  This was no ostentatious mansion. There was no picture-perfect landscaping. No goons at the front door.

  Carmella's home was an unpretentious brick and aluminum-sided bungalow on a street full of similar houses in one of those middle-class suburbs where young couples like to start their families. The schools were decent and there were amenities galore nearby, including a small playground, a skateboarding park, and plenty of Big Box shopping.

  There was a row of pink-and-white plastic flowers stuck into the dirt under the picture window to the left of the front door and just behind the flowers, a statue of the Virgin Mary.

  It wasn't what I expected.

  Not that I was passing judgment on Carmella or anything. I hadn't met the woman yet. I hadn't even talked to her. I wouldn't even be there if it weren't for Father Anthony, who called his mother on my behalf. But knowing that Carmella Scarpetti's name was—and had been since very soon after Gus died—Carmella Scarpetti LaGanza put a whole new spin on things.

  "Come on! Don't stand out there. It looks like it's going to start raining any minute. Come on in!" The aluminum storm door swung open and a woman who looked like a cross between Mrs. Santa Claus and Sophia Loren waved me inside.

  Carmella couldn't have been more than five feet tall. She had a head of thick white hair that was pulled into a ponytail and a figure that must once have been lush. Her skin was olive-colored and flawless, her nose was a little too big for her to ever be considered a rea
l beauty. Her eyes were dark and reminded me of Anthony's in those pictures I'd seen of him from back in the days when he was healthy. They were animated and sparkling. She was wearing jeans, a pink sweatshirt that had Boca Raton on it in turquoise lettering, and yellow flip-flops.

  "You must be Pepper. I've been waiting for you." No sooner had I climbed the two steps to the cement-pad front porch than Carmella grabbed my hand and tugged me inside.

  I found myself in a living room that was dominated by the gold velvet couch that took up most of one wall. It was covered with plastic. So were the shades on the porcelain Capo di Monte lamps on either side of the couch. Shepherd on one side. Shepherdess on the other. Both were embellished with lots of curlicues and gold paint. It matched the color of the flocked wallpaper. Across from the couch was a TV on a plastic stand. The rabbit ears on top of it were cockeyed.

  Carmella led me through the living room and the attached dining room, where a table was covered with a lace cloth and a curio cabinet in the corner was filled with more frilly porcelain.

  "You'll have to excuse the mess," she said, though where, exactly, "the mess" was supposed to be was beyond me. The place was as tidy as if a cleaning crew had just left. "We came back from Florida a few weeks early because of Benny Marzano's funeral. We've been down there since right after Christmas. We go every winter. I know you young folks don't understand but believe me, honey, when you're my age, you will. Can't take the cold and snow anymore."

  When we got to the kitchen, she stepped back to let me walk through the doorway first. It was a room where one of those perfect sitcom moms from the fifties would have been right at home, immaculate and shining, from the pink counter-tops to the black-and-white ceramic tile on the floor.

  "I made coffee." Carmella pointed to the pot on the countertop. "And cookies." She grabbed a plate heaped with chocolate chip cookies and held them in front of me. "You do eat cookies, don't you?"

  It took a minute for me to catch my breath and while I did, I grabbed a cookie and sat down at the Formica-topped kitchen table. Carmella poured coffee into pink mugs with flamingos for handles and pushed a crystal sugar bowl in front of me. I didn't dare ask for sweetener.