Back In Town (A Small Town Series Book 2)

by Marc A. DiGiacomo

  “Can I buy you a drink?” I know it can complicate things the moment it leaves my mouth, but I’m mesmerized by my new acquaintance.

  “Sure. My friend just left. I was going to go home but I want to talk to you. How about a fuzzy melon ball?” I gasp but quickly regroup.

  “Sounds great; be right back.” I move quickly to the bar. From the corner of my eye, I see Scotty give me the symbol. It goes back to our high school days: the one finger salute. Why be a third wheel, especially a gay one? My friend leaves me vulnerable with a woman who could very easily grace the Christmas issue of the Playboy Magazine. Now all I can think about are my balls in the middle of her melons. I’m sweating. Shit. My friend Maggie is bartending. She walks over.

  “Hey, Matt, what will it be?”

  “Ahh, I’ll take another draft and a fuzzy melon ball for my friend.” My mind races. That’s right, she’s my friend, not even, and she’s a victim. I am comforting a victim of a crime with a cocktail. Not my cock in her tail. It’s just a drink. Snap out of it you pussy. You’re a cop. Hold it together. I am battling every primal urge in my head, but on the surface I appear just fine and dandy. I don’t even know what’s in her drink, but it’s ready in less than thirty seconds. I walk back towards the table with our beverages and set them down on the rickety wooden table.

  “Wow, that was fast. So, Matt, do you think this will go to trial?”

  “Uhm, well, if it does, it will be next year, so don’t worry about it for now. The defendant has some priors so he will be looking for a plea deal, especially since there was a cop inside the bank who identified him immediately. It’s a slam dunk.”

  “A year. I just got into town. I don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow.” Her smile is contagious. I find her irresistible. Everything about her is perfect; but I have Cynthia. I have to stop this before I cross the line.

  “So this is your first time in Hutchville? I’ve never seen you before.”

  “Yes. Well, I lived here a long time ago for a little while after I got married.”

  My ears perk up instantly and I think of my brother Franny. This is the conversation he so desperately wants to have with Ms. Delmonico.

  “So you and your husband moved somewhere else?”

  “No, actually my husband died in a boating accident. I was very young. He was very wealthy. He came from money. He owned his own boat and one night he decided to go striper fishing by himself. I told him I didn’t want to go. That’s the last time I saw him alive. The next morning I went down to the Harbor in Mamaroneck. That’s where he docked his boat. It wasn’t there. I figured he just slept out in Long Island sound. When I didn’t hear from him at all the next day, I got so nervous. I went to the dock master to file a report. A few days later his body washed up ashore at Oakland Beach in Rye. His boat was never found.”

  “That’s horrible, Theresa. I’m so sorry. So what did you do?”

  “Well, I was only twenty so I moved back to Florida to be closer to my family.”

  “And what brings you back here to Hutchville?”

  “Are you asking as a friend or as a detective?”

  She is on to me. Shit! I think to myself. I may have shown my hand too early.

  “As a friend, of course. Just curious is all.” I’m back in the driver’s seat, or so I think.

  “I needed a new beginning. Things weren’t going so well for me down south so I came back. I always liked this community and hoped to raise a family here, but life doesn’t always play fair.”

  “Don’t I know that? Last month I got shot, right in the chest and shoulder. My partner gets into a car accident and dies. I’m left to wonder what else can go wrong.”

  “Maybe I came back at the wrong time. I always thought Hutchville was a safe town.”

  “It is. Well, for the most part; but like everywhere else it’s changing.”

  “It might be good to know a cop then, huh?” My eyes are glued to her greens. I try to fight it but there is no way. I don’t have the strength. I am weak. It isn’t the alcohol. I just know this will never happen again with the likes of Ms. Delmonico. How would Cynthia find out? If I can keep Cipriano’s murder from surfacing, I shouldn’t have a problem with a little extracurricular rendezvous.

  “Theresa, would you like to get outta here?” I can’t believe I say it. The words barely leave my mouth. I try to suck them back in but it’s futile.

  “How close is your place?”

  “It’s just up the street.”

  “I live upstairs. You lose. Come on.” I have difficulty standing. I don’t even think of Cynthia. Theresa is a true fantasy, unlike anything I’ve tasted before. I mean, even Scotty couldn’t take his eyes off her. I scan the pub as I leave. Only a heavy set older fellow is grazing at the bar. He looks my way with a smile and a nod. I don’t recognize him at all.

  I never noticed the apartment upstairs from O’Neil’s. We walk out of O’Neil’s door and go inside the unlocked door right next to it. I quickly glance behind me and around the sidewalk as I close the door. Thankfully, no one sees me. I pull Theresa in towards me. Our lips lock, and I can feel her hand making its way down towards my zipper. Why fuck around? This babe knows what’s rising up. The cargo shorts hide nothing as my firmness pokes out towards her. She brushes it lightly with her fingers, then unzips my little friend. My mind is empty except for the thought of having sex with Theresa. Before I can kiss her again, she sits on the third step and swallows me. I have to hold onto the railing for support. Thank God for the few beers I had, otherwise this would have been over in a flash. Theresa is not stopping and uses her hand to compliment her mouth; but this romp is not going to end on this dirty staircase. I reach my hand into her shirt and gently squeeze her firm breasts. They are real, with the hardest nipples I have ever felt before. I want nothing more than to taste each one.

  I pull her up towards me and kiss her again. I rip her shirt down the middle to expose her chest. I start with the left bra strap and pull it down over her shoulder. I kiss her again and again. I can’t stop. I lift Theresa up as she straddles me. If I fall down, I’m going to get hurt. I carry her up the staircase; she keeps me going the entire time, working magic with her hand. She knows exactly what to do. She is a pro.

  We barrel through her apartment door. I find the bed easily in this one room studio. The rest of our clothes are off and thrown about. Theresa pushes me onto her bed and straddles me. The moment of truth is upon us and the word condom is never discussed. She places her silkiness all around me and I quiver. She bends down and stares into my eyes.

  “Matt, please don’t stop. I need you.” She is becoming out of breath as she continues to thrust me harder. I can’t stop looking at her. She is gorgeous. We are both getting close to the end. My nerves start alerting me to the possibility of exploding freely without protection. Theresa, sensing my nervousness, instantly puts me at ease.

  “It’s okay, Matt, I’m on the pill.”

  At that precise moment, I do the dumbest thing I have done in the longest time. Not since college have I made such a drastic mistake. An unpleasant vision of my father shouting, “use a head gasket, you moron,” flashes in neon lights, directly in front of my eyes, but leaves instantly. All the while, our eyes locked, I unleash all of it into her. I never pull out, even when it goes soft; it stays in there where it belongs. We kiss for what feels like forever. There are no words exchanged for minutes. I almost feel like she knows I am holding something back. I know I can never speak of this, but how could I not do this again and again? How can something so wrong feel this incredible? I am terribly conflicted. I know it is wrong to cheat.

  “Matt, what’s the matter?” Theresa can’t see my face; her head is resting on my chest.

  “What do you mean?” I try to downplay how I am feeling.

  “Well, your heart rate hasn’t gone down; it’s still beating really fast. Are you okay?”

  “Sure I am. I must still be recuperating from the torture you just subjected me to
o.”

  “Really, is that what you call it?” She is smiling. I can feel her lips move on my chest. She is a happy girl and why shouldn’t she be? I came through.

  “Yes, you scared the shit out of me.”

  Theresa finds this funny. “How could little me ever scare you, Detective?”

  “Ha, Theresa, you’re incredible.”

  “Matt, I saw you at the bank. You were hawking my ass. Well here it is, all for you.”

  “Round two sounds good. I’m ready.”

  “I know. I can feel him. He’s waking up.”

  Chapter Fifteen: Poor Maria

  September 4, 2007

  My phone rings at midnight and I’m relieved to see my boss’s phone number on the caller ID. For a moment I had forgotten about Cynthia, but the call reminds me of the jam I now find myself in. I try holding my breath, hoping this call is not work related. Theresa is asleep next to me. I barely even know this woman. Then I realize I don’t know Cynthia that well either. Is my relationship with her monogamous or is she seeing other people as well? We never discussed it, and after what happened tonight it seems that a conversation is needed. The captain would love to hear my sex romp story, but that discussion would be for when we are alone. I quietly pick up my cell off the side table.

  “Hey, Cap, what’s up?” I whisper, trying not to wake the sleeping angel, laid out nude right next to me. I cup my hand around my mouth to muffle the sound.

  “Matt, sorry to wake you. I just got word that Donny’s aunt had a severe stroke. She is in intensive care at White Plains Hospital.” I feel sick in my stomach at the mentioning of Donny, but his aunt is a sweet old lady. She has been like a grandmother to me since Donny and I started working together. It hasn’t been a good year for Zia Maria, especially since she “lost” Donny and her brother Carlo in the same month. I guess Donny didn’t send his great aunt the postcard he sent me. How could he abandon this woman that raised him and nurtured him since he was a boy? She is super sweet, showing no resemblance to her family’s criminal ways. I think she is religious so that she can constantly pray for their souls. Plus, she can whip up a meal any time, day or night. She had cooked Donny and I dinner more times than I can remember. It didn’t matter what time we stopped by. There was always a pot of gravy ready for her homemade pasta and meatballs.

  Now that I’ve hung up the phone, I should go to the hospital. It’s the right thing to do, after all. Zia Maria has nobody except a few close friends. But I fall asleep again, thinking about poor Zia Maria at Donny’s funeral. She sat right next to me and held my hand so tight. If she knew her nephew tried to kill me, she would be very disappointed. I’m sure she said more than one prayer for me while I recuperated from my gunshot wound.

  At seven in the morning I awake feeling anxious. Theresa is already showering in her bathroom. I have to get the hell out of this apartment. I grab my shorts and quickly pull them on. My shirt is nowhere to be found. I start looking for it while I hop on one leg, trying to pull my sneakers on over my bare feet. No sign of my socks. Then I notice something odd. Two white tube socks are fastened to the metal headboard at the far corners. I can see they’re mine but they’re stretched out longer than my size thirteen’s could ever be. I wasn’t drunk last night, other than a few beers. My mind searches its limited databank and comes up empty. I’m certain I didn’t tie Theresa up. Closer examination of my wrists shows a slight redness on both sides at the base of the hands. I don’t feel any pain or discomfort. Ice runs through my veins, as a chill weaves its way down my spine. Maybe Franny is right about Theresa having something to do with her husband’s disappearance. This is definitely strange. I need more information before I ask Theresa. No reason to give anything away. I try thinking of something else, but I’m forced to face a more serious problem.

  Where is my gun? My thoughts grow louder as fear thunders into my head with the weight of a tractor-trailer. The same overwhelming fear I experienced last week dealing with Donny and his cohorts. No sign of my Glock anywhere. I want to leave before Theresa comes out of the bathroom, but not without my weapon. Too late, I think, as the bathroom door opens. I turn, trying not to look like a deer caught in the high beams of a passing car. Theresa looks divine in a purple robe with her wet, brown hair cascading towards her shoulders. She is so hot and I am so screwed.

  “Where are you off to? I was going to make us breakfast,” she says, heading towards the kitchen.

  “Theresa, have you seen my gun?” I say, not expecting the answer I receive.

  “Yes, I took it and placed it on top of the refrigerator. It scares me to death. I just wanted to put it somewhere safe.”

  “You touched my gun?” I say, annoyed with myself for not safeguarding it properly.

  “Yes, Matt, I touched your gun well, didn’t I?” Her smile calms me. I forget about my wrists and socks.

  What happens next catches me by surprise. Theresa drops her robe before bending down in front of an open refrigerator door. My mind is blown before I take my first step. This never happens to me. This bombshell is trying to seduce me at seven o’clock on this Tuesday morning. I should go home to get ready for work. What if Cynthia is there? Fuck it. If I am going down, I might as well go down on Theresa. I walk over for my breakfast.

  I should have left Theresa’s apartment an hour ago. It’s now eight and the clock is ticking. I need to get over to the hospital. I have to go see how Zia Maria is doing. I jump into my Jeep, crank it over and set out up Forest Avenue towards home. My stomach is in knots. If Cynthia is there, I’ll probably drop dead in my hallway. I should have never given her a key. I only did it so she wouldn’t have to travel to Manhattan so late. Franny told me it was a stupid idea. He was right, that little prick.

  I find a parking spot right in front of my building. There’s no sign of Cynthia’s Charger anywhere. I hurriedly make my way to my apartment door, fumbling with my keys, stressed to the max. A week ago, I was hiding from a hit man; now I’m hiding from the women that saved my life. Did you forget that, Matt? Cynthia saved your life and you’re cheating on her. My mind is conflicted to the point of exhaustion. Before I place the key in the hole, I put my ear to the metal frame. The apartment sounds quiet, but maybe she is sleeping. Her last text on Saturday said she would be away for a few days. Today is Tuesday. That’s a few days, butt nut. I check my phone to confirm. I unlock my door and slowly enter. Everything seems okay. I move slowly towards my bedroom door, which is closed. Once again, I listen close for any noise. I twist the knob and jump as my house phone rings. I know its Cynthia. I can feel it. I’m surprised when they don’t leave a message. The caller ID indicates the call came from an unavailable number.

  I leave the apartment in a hurry. I don’t want to be there in case Cynthia shows up unannounced. Zia Maria should not have to die alone. Not even the worst animal should leave this world without a friend. Even if she’s unconscious, I know she will be able to hear my prayers for her. I can’t believe Donny left her here in Hutchville, N.Y. He should have taken her with him; but then his grand scheme would have been too obvious, even to the casual observer. Zia Maria is a permanent fixture at St. Vincent’s Church. She has her own pew that no one dares to sit in.

  The drive to White Plains Hospital is quick on this Tuesday morning. I’m lucky to find a parking spot directly in front of the building. After dropping a fortune into the meter, I head for the lobby, to see my favorite priest walking towards me. The tears in his eyes answer any questions I might ask about Zia Maria.

  “She is a fighter but her time is upon us. Matt, I know Donny would be so happy to see you here, especially since he can’t be here himself.” Father Murphy wipes the tears from his rosy cheeks.

  “Father, it is my pleasure. She is such a sweet lady. I will call the rectory if anything changes,” I say, preparing myself for the horrible situation I am walking towards head first.

  Father Murphy hugs me so tight I feel my entire back crack. He is a gigantic man, with the body of a lu
mberjack and the belly of Saint Nick. I have such respect for him. Everyone in Hutchville holds him in their hearts. Every Sunday my mother and father are in the front row at St. Vincent’s Church, waiting for Father Murphy’s Mass. His eulogies always bring people to tears, because he knows the entire town on a first name basis. At Donny’s funeral, he went on and on with stories of bravery and honor. Only God and I know exactly what Donny’s qualities really are.

  I head to the lobby and check in at the front desk. Zia Maria is located on the fourth floor of the hospital in the ICU. The long walk to the elevator brings back all those memories of Maria trying to convince Donny to settle down, in hopes of one day seeing a child born. She had these high hopes for Donny, but he was so damn rigid.

  As the elevator door opens on the fourth floor, my ears pick up on the multiple beeps going off around me. The different sounds of the computer equipment and monitors always make me uneasy. I’m constantly reminded of my shooting, every time I walk into a hospital. I unconsciously rub my shoulder and grimace as my fingers glide over the bumpy scar. This floor is buzzing with people. There are nurses and doctors making their rounds. I have to move out of their way a few times. The door to room #421 is closed. I push it open and am met with a sorrowful sight. The woman I had grown to love and admire is hooked up to a respirator. A computer is breathing for her now. Zia Maria has everything a hospital can offer attached to her body. Her breathing is being monitored closely while her blood pressure and heart rate are displayed on a computer screen, showing the slow rhythm of her heart.

  Before I can say anything the phone rings. The sound startles me. I wasn’t expecting it. I pick up the phone. “Hello,” I say, thinking it is Father Murphy calling because he forgot something.

  “Good evening, is Nurse Anna in?” The voice on the other end of the line is familiar to me but I can’t place it just yet. I know it isn’t Father Murphy, although I want it to be him. This would be so much easier for me if it were my favorite priest. My heart pumps hard as the realization dawns.