Back In Town (A Small Town Series Book 2)

by Marc A. DiGiacomo

  “Sure, Donny, whatever you need.” Donny nodded in appreciation. I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. I looked over my left shoulder and found Massimo Rizzo passed out on the floor. Donny got up, snuffed out his cigarette on the kitchen table, and approached Rizzo, kicking him directly in the gut. The impact pushed all the air out of Rizzo’s lungs. Donny dragged him by his feet into the bathroom. I almost forgot the water was running. The level was getting close to the top as Donny turned it off.

  “You didn’t use hot water?”

  “Donny, you didn’t tell me what temperature you preferred. You said to fill the tub. That’s what I did.” Donny didn’t look in my direction. Rizzo was awake and on his knees as Donny stuffed his head under the water, creating streaks of red. After thirty seconds, Rizzo was given a break to breathe. Watching this half-ass water boarding technique was quite disturbing. Donny kept Rizzo’s head in the water longer each time. I counted six in total.

  “Listen to me, fat man. I have some paperwork for you to fill out. We are going to walk into your kitchen, sit down at your table, and write everything that happened earlier today. If, when I read your statement, I feel you are not describing everything you did, I will bring you back in here to die.” Even I was convinced; but I would never allow that to happen. Rizzo shook his head and promised to write. Donny had the paperwork ready in his leather binder. It seemed like we had been there for days. Just like Donny said, Rizzo sat down and wrote out his statement. It took about ten minutes for him to perfect his confession. As Donny read the paperwork, I only prayed it contained all the information my partner had asked for. When Donny was done, he stood Rizzo up, walked him towards the apartment door and handcuffed him.

  “Okay, Matt, we are good here. I’ll transport Massimo up to headquarters. Thanks for all your help. Great job finding those head phones. I’ll put them into evidence.”

  I didn’t answer. I just watched him leave with our suspect. Part of me was upset I didn’t take any part in it. I didn’t want Donny Mello talking shit about me around the department. I walked into the lobby and found Captain Grassio. He was all smiles after seeing Rizzo in handcuffs.

  “What’s a matter with you? Fucking young girls? You’re lucky my guys didn’t kill you. If I was here you’d be in a wheelchair for life. Donny, as always, another job well done.” I watched Donny whisper something into Captain Grassio’s ear. It made me uncomfortable to think they were talking about me. My stomach pains returned as I watched both men stare in my direction, whispering words I was unable to hear. Ten seconds later, Captain Grassio walked over to me.

  “Matt, Donny was just telling me how incredible you did talking to the victim. It couldn’t have been easy to hear all those things. Great job.” I forced a smile.

  “Thanks, Cap. As a matter of fact, my tour is over. I’m going to head up to the hospital to see how Anna is doing.” I said goodbye to Captain Grassio, walked out the lobby and sat in my patrol car. My mind was spinning. As I radioed into headquarters that I was complete, I thought of something. I thought of Anna and how different her life would be forever. I was upset for not doing anything to Rizzo when I had the chance. Something changed inside me that day. I would never allow myself to feel guilty about what Donny did to Rizzo. That pig deserved it for hurting Anna.

  Sometimes in our worst moments, a beacon of light helps to guide us on our path. On my path I was destined to meet up with Anna. Her light would always be bright for me from then on.

  Chapter Three: The Great Escape

  August 30, 2007

  The desolate roadway is well-lit by the clear radiance of a full moon. A lonely deer scurries into the woods as the dark Lincoln drives along, drawing suspicion from curious on-lookers within the trees. The driver is careful to operate within the speed limit so as to not attract the slightest interest from any law enforcement officer. He and his passenger are not singing now. The murder of that little creep has left a sour taste in their mouths. It is always better to make your moves during the early morning hours. It’s 4 a.m., and the perfect time to move in stealth. Most Hutchville cops are hunkered down for the night, praying nothing happens, as their nearest backup could be ten minutes away. Just two guys heading to the airport. The handsome passenger lights up a Marlboro red and flicks the match out his open window. The driver, short and stocky, can’t help staring in the rear view mirror.

  “Fabrizio, andiamo. We have to make the plane.”

  “Aspettare, Paolo. I’m sorry, but we can’t take any more chances.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Fabrizio, tell me what’s on your mind. I’m not asking.”

  “Paolo, it’s nothing.”

  “I am not going to ask you again.” Fabrizio knows what his boss means.

  “I’m upset, that’s all.”

  “I get it, but this is our life. One day it could be you or me. There’s no playbook. It is what it is.”

  “But your friend is still alive.” Fabrizio is well aware he just crossed a fine line. His relationship with Paolo Fretti can be traced back to a time when they were both running around in diapers. However, those days are long gone. The reality of their relationship is one of boss/underboss. The latter is Fabrizio’s new title.

  “I will let that slide for old times’ sake. Don Carlo, your boss, my grandfather, gave me that order, not you. Are you questioning the manner in which I carried out his request? Do you think the cop would be dead now if you were the one chosen? How about this scenario? Matt Longo is a paranoid guy; he’s always looking over his shoulder. I put my money on him killing you. He’s a cop Fabrizio, and he’s good at his job. His brother, that crazy fucker, will stick a hot pepper up your ass.”

  “Sorry, Don Paolo, I meant no disrespect. But didn’t that order come from your uncle?”

  “My uncle? No! He doesn’t give me orders in this family. Shut up and drive. Did I ask you where you were when Don Carlo was killed?”

  Paolo is fuming. His demeanor changes from simple annoyance to total aggravation as Sicilian adrenaline rushes through his body like a flood. He has so many questions about that night. How did they get to my grandfather? He was so good, always keeping his eyes on the door. But it was a waiter that killed him. Don Paolo knows the truth and will have his revenge. Crucial information crosses the Atlantic on a daily basis. You just have to pay for it.

  The Westchester County Airport is located just north of Hutchville, N.Y. It is a small airport that offers connecting flights to most hubs east of the Mississippi River. The airport is also home to a large private airplane community: From the basic two-seater single prop Cessna, to much larger, privately owned jets. The airport offers airplane parking for owners directly on the tarmac adjacent to the runway. More exclusive, private hangars, which provide protection from the elements, are located along the airport’s outer boundaries.

  Paolo Fretti remembers how much his grandfather treasured his beloved Gulfstream. Don Carlo Mello was a world traveler. He had to be to head one of the world’s most profitable criminal enterprises. The memory of his grandfather calms Paolo down. He relaxes and rests comfortably into his black leather seat. He closes his eyes only for an instant, but remembers a story from long ago.

  It was right after high school, a graduation present for Paolo. How he loved going on hunting trips with his grandfather. The African Savannah was their favorite excursion site for big game. It was an elephant hunt organized by some locals in South Africa. This was during the late eighties, before all this conservation and save the animals bullshit became front page news. Paolo was a young man, thirsting to kill something. Often, he would zero his sights on the locals as they drove game out from the tall grass. How he wanted to shoot a person. He hoped to get his chance soon. Paolo had his choice between two male elephants who were actively trying to show off in front of a young female. Paolo sighted his grandfather’s Weatherby Mark V Deluxe, chambered in a .460 magnum. He was aiming for
the skull. The elephant’s brain was the size of a man’s closed fist.

  He only had three shots; he couldn’t afford to miss. The last thing anyone wanted was a pissed off elephant charging. Paolo slowed his breathing down. He felt nothing but rage as he slowly pulled back on the trigger. Bang! The explosion knocked him off his feet. His ears rang loudly. He feared he would remain deaf forever. The smile on Carlo’s face said it all. Carlo Mello extended his hand to pick up his grandson.

  “Good shot, Paolo. He’s down and done. Don’t scratch my gun. It’s my favorite.”

  “Thanks, Nonno!”

  Paolo remembers the excitement as if it was yesterday.

  As the car slows to a stop, Paolo opens his eyes. Fabrizio is out of his seat, heading towards the trunk. Don Paolo opens his door and quickly makes his way up the stairs of his newly inherited jet. He is greeted by two pilots who exchange hugs with him. He makes his way towards his seat. Paolo stops and turns his head as she passes. The Gulfstream’s door closes and is secured by a stunning young Asian woman, with huge breasts jammed into her stewardess outfit. Paolo takes another look and smiles.

  “Just like I requested. Good job, Fabrizio.” Fabrizio is able to smile even though he won’t get any action on this flight. Unlike his boss, Fabrizio Demarco’s pole will stay indoors for the entire trip home. Besides, he banged her earlier, a truth he will keep quiet by transferring hundreds of green-backs to her account and some white powder for her nose. If Don Paolo found out he would be upset and would refuse her services. He never mixed company, especially with his subordinates.

  “Buono sera, Don Paolo.” The sexy stewardess reaches for his hand. Don Paolo is up in an instant and is escorted to the rear of the plane.

  Fabrizio fastens his seat belt as the pilot slows the jet on the departing runway. Even with the roaring engines heating up, he can hear sounds of pleasure trickling throughout the small cabin. His eyes close as he thinks of what he has done over the last few days. The thoughts that flash in his mind cause him a great deal of pain. Fabrizio has no problem “taking care” of people, especially if they deserve death. He takes great pride in his work and remembers every victim, especially his first. This was different. Gus was his best friend; they grew up together. It was Fabrizio who remembered the bicycle accident so many years ago. They had come to visit Paolo in America. He reminded Paolo about it and how funny Gus looked with no front tooth. The joking didn’t last for long. It was Zia Maria who took Gus to the dentist. She used Donny’s name on the records so her insurance would cover the cost of the dental implant.

  Fabrizio begins to cry. He sobs for the life he took upon the orders of Don Paolo. Killing Gus and planting his body in the driver’s seat of the BMW was difficult enough. Lighting the match to torch the car erased any chance of Fabrizio’s soul being saved. This is the only time he ever felt regret. It is a painful feeling for him as he believes his heart is a black stone. The sorrow doesn’t last long. Toughen up you little bitch. Fabrizio uses his kerchief to wipe his tears. He reaches for the flask he carries inside his jacket pocket. He takes a long swig, grimacing from the whiskey’s potency. Within seconds the jet is ascending rapidly. Fabrizio closes his eyes again, but this time he sleeps.

  Chapter Four: O Captain! My Captain!

  August 30, 2007

  I find myself smiling as I awake to birds chirping right outside my bedroom window. It’s surprising to see a cardinal resting on the black telephone cable attached to my building. This sighting has me wondering about the implications. Could my luck be turning for the better? Such a rare bird to see, especially with all the road noise coming from a highly traveled street. Its brilliant red coat reflects the morning sunlight. It flies away as I get out of bed and head for the bathroom.

  As I sit down on the cold, off-white Toto seat, I begin the ominous task of recounting the last month. Things haven’t had a chance to quiet down in the small town of Hutchville, N.Y. Most people couldn’t give a shit about my shooting. It’s old news now that a cop has “really” died in an automobile accident. Detective Donny Mello’s fatal fender bender is overshadowing great police work. It’s not every day a rapist moves into this town. It’s even harder to arrest the scumbag. Luck was on our side with regards to the apprehension of Leonard Kepler.

  I flush my morning blues away and begin my personal hygiene régime. It only takes a few minutes to wash, brush and rinse. It takes just a second to look in the medicine cabinet mirror. If the bags under my eyes were able to talk, they’d be screaming for more sleep. A cup of coffee is well needed this morning. I move towards my small galley kitchen. The Kepler paperwork debacle lasted until midnight. I stayed for a few minutes to watch Captain Grassio slap the shit out of Leonard with his sneakers. It was hysterical.

  I make a promise to myself that I will call Cynthia today. I have to make sure we are meeting up again after work. It’s the least I can do for running out on her during dinner. I watch my cup of coffee begin to brew as my gaze shifts towards the postcard I would much rather forget. I know it’s not possible and I have the scar to prove it. So much for my earlier premonition; no such luck for me. Should have shot that bird. Donny, get out of my head!

  I quickly grab the largest knife out of the wooden block. Without focusing on my target, I slam the knife into that damned postcard, ramming the steel blade into my maple counter. It’s almost like an out of body experience. My vision clears as I look upon my work. The card sent from Italy with Paolo Fretti’s initials deserves worse than a slit. I wish for a fireplace so I could torch it, but decide to keep it for Cynthia. Maybe she can make heads or tails of the message. My friend. Yeah, I’m your friend. Just wait and see.

  My attention is drawn to my cell phone vibrating in the other room. I retrieve it from the nightstand. The missed call is from Franny. I’m surprised he’s up so early. I quickly call him back.

  “Hey, Franny, what time is the big show?”

  “Cap said 9 a.m. sharp.”

  “K, I’ll meet you there.”

  It was Captain Philip Grassio’s decision to keep the little bastard in our lockup. If I know my boss, he never left the place last night. He wouldn’t let our little Leonard get comfortable. No freaking way. I wouldn’t be surprised if he broke his balls until the early morning hours. I have been in the cell block at night. By three in the morning it’s freezing, even in the summer. Franny and I need to be up at headquarters by nine sharp. The captain will most definitely have the local news present for our “perp walk.” The transport to the Westchester County Jail couldn’t come soon enough. I want to be done with Leonard Kepler, at least for now. If he’s dumb enough to roll the dice for a trial, we’ll be ready. After a quick shower, I’m dressed and out the door.

  The vast sea of news trucks at Hutchville P.D. is a sight to be seen. I have a feeling they are more interested in Donny’s “accident” than our latest arrest. It’s not often one of our brothers in blue dies. Although it could have been me they were reporting on. My shooting almost permanently removed my soul from this world. I guess I’m one lucky son of a bitch.

  The media jumps all over stories involving cops. The public can never get enough of the police, no matter the circumstance. Suddenly, I feel weird. My fingers start to tingle. I can’t tell what is causing my current state, but I’m sure Donny’s “accident” has a large part to play in it. Anxiety settles in my stomach as I begin to lose my breath. I know what is happening even though it has never affected me this severely. A panic attack plays out within the interior of my Jeep as I pull over behind the building, away from the cameras and wandering eyes. The soft top of my Jeep leaves little to the imagination as it offers no privacy. I try to control my breathing, in through my nose and out through my mouth. It takes a few minutes to get it under control. Just in time, as I see Franny walking up to the back door of headquarters. I check my rear view mirror to ensure I look alright. I don’t want to appear a mess for all the different television stations that are present for the big show.
I exit my Jeep and head inside.

  The door to the detective division is open. While thinking things couldn’t get any stranger, I bump into Franny just as I walk inside our office. He is frozen, unsure what he is supposed to do. As I turn the corner, I see why Franny is so stiff and baffled. I know this isn’t a bad dream. It would require high powered commercial fans to alleviate the potent stench of alcohol that fills our room. A small bottle of Grey Goose Vodka is overturned on the newly carpeted floor. Unfortunately for us it is empty. Six crushed beer cans from a six pack are positioned like bowling pins on my desk. The cold case filing cabinet is open, with reports thrown about. The waist high black shredder next to the metal cube is jammed. I can see the red light flashing. What the hell is going on here?

  I’m instantly nervous. The vultures outside want a press conference. I tap Captain Phil Grassio gently on his shoulder. He doesn’t even stir. He is passed out. I check his vitals and am relieved he has a pulse and is breathing. I quickly phone my pal, Scotty Franks. He will know how to handle this from a medical standpoint. Plus, I’m not taking any chances with losing my boss. The captain isn’t just drunk. He’s completely wasted. Within a few minutes Scotty Franks arrives. His serious face is calming, especially in our present predicament.

  “How long has he been like this?”

  “Scotty, I have no idea. Franny found him like this a few minutes before me.”

  “His pulse is strong and he’s breathing alright. Do you want to wake him?”

  “Yes, the press is waiting for a statement on Donny and Kepler; he needs to sober up as soon as possible.”

  “Matt, he’s not going to be able to do that. You’re going to have to notify the chief.”