“Something in Italian. I’d know his voice anywhere. We have this strange connection. After all, he was my partner for all these years. He taught me everything I know, the good and the bad.”
“So what has your department done about the shooting?”
“They handed it off to the feds.”
“Feds? What feds?” Cynthia becomes nervous.
“Joe Martinez and his partner Steven Rowland. The guys who were at the station the other day.”
“Are they F.B.I.?” Cynthia’s face changes. Her eyes lock on my face.
“Those were the letters on the ID.”
“I don’t know them; in fact, I never heard those names before. Maybe they are my replacements in O.C. That’s really weird. Would you like some tea?”
“Sure, Cyn, that sounds good. Well, they are very interested in Donny. I want to tell them to join the club.” I can’t help smiling.
“Don’t worry, Matt. I’ll make some calls in the morning. Right now, you need to rest. You’ll feel better after some tea.”
I sit in my favorite oversized chair and put the television on. Cynthia is in the kitchen, her back to me. My attention refocuses on a local news story involving a lady being evicted over some feral cats. Geez, I know how that ends. The tea kettle brings me back around. I can’t remember the last time I had tea. Cynthia’s strut is erotic. Even in my current state she arouses me without doing much of anything. She hands me the tea with a smile. I sip it. The warm liquid rolls over my tongue and freefalls into the back of my throat. It’s good. I sip again.
“Relax, Matthew Longo.” I take another sip. I look up at Cynthia. She has never called me by my full name before. That’s weird. It’s the last thought I have before my visuals go black. I can hear the mug fall to the floor.
“We got you.” I can hear her voice but can’t see anything. I’m unable to move. I can’t talk, walk, fight or feel.
“Donny said this would be simple, but I expected more of a challenge from you, Matthew Longo. Unfortunately, the toxin you’ve just drunk makes it impossible for you to get hard. I like to give my fling one last good time. So I’ll kiss it awhile for you, but you won’t feel a thing.”
Cynthia speaks again a short moment later.
“Matthew, those pictures of Donny in the airport were taken by me. Have you ever known an F.B.I. agent to show up unannounced at your apartment? Come on. You’re a detective. You didn’t see this coming? Donny and I dated a long time ago. He taught me some things and I taught him other things. But even the best of times need to end. Like now. We’ve had some fun. I am looking forward to meeting your family.”
Suddenly, there is a dull pain in my left side. It’s a burning sensation. I can feel this sadistic, psycho bitch on top of me. She is straddling me. Her movements bother me like nothing I’ve experienced before. This utterly powerless moment trumps even my shooting.
“And poor Sal. You killed him. He was such a good guy. You remember him, don’t you? He’s been following you for days. I’m sure he looked different with a bullet in his face. You’ve been a naughty boy, Matthew, cheating on me with that little slut. Guess where I am going after we are finished?” She continues talking, but I have trouble taking it all in now. Bahamas? Who was in the Bahamas? If I could move an arm, I would choke this skank to death. She is cutting me open. There’s nothing I can do but die. I think of my short life and all that I will miss, especially my parents, my brother Franny, and Theresa. I’m crying now, goddam it. Tears drip down the sides of my face. No sounds come from me. I want to scream but I can’t. The blackness is coming again, the burning is deeper. It’s penetrating my soul. Boom! Boom! Gunshots, again?
Chapter Twenty: Coming Home
September 5, 2007
Once the plane touches down, the two men agree to go their separate ways towards U.S. Customs. Their brand new identities and hair colors keep anyone from recognizing them. The taller gentleman heads over to the U.S. Customs and Border protection station within Newark Airport, in New Jersey. He favors a female agent and takes his chance with a dirty blonde working booth three.
“Passport, please.” She half smiles at the handsome, tanned foreigner. He looks at her chest and sees a small rectangular gold pin with the name “R. Jones” stamped into the metal.
“Buon Giorno, Signora Jones.”
“Good morning to you, Mr. Stefano Gravanese. What is your reason for coming to the Unites States?”
“Vacation. I love New York.” He is confident and uses his accent perfectly to blend in with his fellow travelers. The U.S. Customs officer smiles, stamps the passport and hands it back.
“Have a great trip.”
Paolo walks away, grinning widely. The Sheik always comes through. I don’t know how he does it.
Once inside the terminal, Fabrizio Demarco meets up with his boss at a coffee stand. Paolo orders his espresso as Fabrizio eyes a croissant. There is a newspaper stand close by. Paolo notices a picture on the front page of the Daily News. He knows that face. She’s an old girlfriend. He’s saddened to learn of her death at the hands of a cop. He nudges Fabrizio. One look at the paper and the two men quietly pick up a copy of every newspaper and sit at a counter overlooking the runway.
“Damn newspapers never get the story right. Cop killed, cop alive. Come on, people.” Paolo Fretti sips his espresso. His morning breakfast is ruined due to a lack of confirmation.
“Fabrizio, is he dead? Is he alive? What say you, man?”
“Paolo, the only one who can confirm his death is your uncle.”
“Would you stop bringing P.J. into the conversation? All of a sudden he’s my maternal uncle. Don’t you know the story? Fabrizio, he killed my mother.”
“Paolo, he was defending your mother. He was almost killed himself.”
“Enough. Find out if Longo is alive. Kill his nutty brother too. I can’t take this shit anymore. There have to be feds crawling all over that town. My uncle is finished.”
Paolo Fretti feels a noose tightening around his neck. His rage exacerbates his anxiety. It’s an embarrassment to fail once. To fail at killing someone twice is unforgivable, even for a boss. His second plan was perfectly devised to ensure a zero percent chance of failure. He had decided the easiest way to get his old partner would be by using an attractive woman. But he forgot to keep an eye out for the brother.
****
The grogginess is subsiding at a snail’s pace. What the hell is going on? Where am I? Where’s Theresa? My mouth tastes like a dirty ass. There’s a strange sensation coming from my lower region. It’s hard to explain, but a stuffed baby sausage sounds about right. I move my hand down and confirm the worst.
A fucking catheter. Good God! I don’t know if anyone hears me, nor do I care. My eyes are crusty from forced sleep. It takes several minutes to adjust to my surroundings. I can make out Franny. I think the little prick is waving at me. I smile.
“Hey, Matt, you’re okay. Don’t be afraid. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Who’s afraid? Certainly not me. Confused is more like it.
“Don’t try and talk. The doctor is on his way.” Chris Finley stands up. I would recognize his voice anywhere. Benny Triano is here too, with Scotty Franks and my parents. Chief Ramsey is asleep in the corner. My eyes wander around the room and I’m instantly at ease: Theresa Delmonico is here and she looks visibly shaken. I’m able to smile, and she returns one with a wave. It feels good that she’s here with my family.
“Am I dreaming?” I’m able to speak but it’s not much more than a whisper.
“What, Matt?” Finley asks. I motion for him to come closer.
“What the fuck is going on?” Chris immediately defers to Franny, who moves towards me.
“Matt, you were poisoned and stabbed, but you’re going to be okay.”
“Shot, stabbed, frigging poisoned… How many more ways can someone try to kill me? Where’s Cynthia?” I feel like I already know the answer, but I need closure. Who better to give
it to me than my kid brother?
“Matt, she’s gone. I came back to your apartment to check on you. I used my key, walked in and found her stabbing you. I shot her. She’s dead.”
The news hit me hard in the core, but I should have seen it coming. She played me perfectly, manipulating my mind with her looks. I’m such a dick. Donny has been watching me all along. He used Cynthia just like he used me all these years. The only difference is, I’m still alive and she is dead.
Franny continues, “Matt, the feds are here. Martinez and Rowland really need to talk to you. You’ve been cleared of the Sal Bruno shooting. No grand jury will be convened.”
“Fran, where is Captain Grassio?”
“Matt, all we know is the feds have him in custody. He had his heart procedure and they moved him somewhere, but no one is talking.” This little bit of information comes as a surprise. I don’t have the strength or focus to wrap my head around it completely.
To my left, light from the hallway enters my room. Franny gets up to greet the two men. Seeing my little bro chumming it up with the feds is a little comforting. However, I’m still reeling from this Twilight Zone revelation. Benny, Chris and Scotty head for the cafeteria as Agents Martinez and Rowland walk towards my bed. My mother takes Theresa by the hand and joins the others in the cafeteria. My dad, sensing a meal coming his way, quickly follows the pack.
“Hey, Detective, how are you feeling?” Is he kidding me? My pickle is stuffed like a green Manzanilla olive.
“Okay, Agent Martinez. Just absorbing the constant blows below the belt.”
“I’m sure Franny told you the good news about Sal Bruno. Your gal pal Cynthia Shyler… Her real name is Sheila Tunni and she is a close associate of Donny Mello, a.k.a. Paolo Fretti. Your ex-partner sometimes uses women to kill. Believe it or not, it’s heavily frowned upon in the mafia underworld, but, let’s face it, Donny Mello doesn’t give a shit.”
Agent Rowland adds more wood to the fire. “We tracked Sheila to the Bahamas last week, and confirmed that her travel companion was found murdered in a hotel. She’s the reason we came to Hutchville, N.Y. However, losing Leonard Kepler was also a cause for concern. But we all know what happened to him.”
The good news keeps piling on top of this mega-clusterfuck. I can see myself falling farther into this shit abyss. Agent Martinez starts again. I lack the strength to raise my hand to stop him.
“Matt, I saved the really good news for last. Chief Tim Ramsey has been notified of everything concerning Donny Mello. He has authorized what I am about to ask you.” I look over at my chief. He’s out like a light.
“We would like to offer you and your brother the opportunity to come work for us. You guys will be sworn in as federal agents on this case only. Donny Mello is alive and we have reason to believe he’s back in town. Think about it. You guys don’t have to answer right now.”
I look over at my brother. His smile gives it away.
“Hell yeah!” Franny and I answer in unison.
Acknowledgments
There are many to thank this time around. First off, without my being part of the Harrison Police Department for so many years, none of this would be possible. I want to thank the people responsible for hiring me back in 1997: former Harrison Supervisor, Mr. Philip Marraccini, former Harrison Town Board members, Mr. Thomas Scappaticci, Mrs. Mary Riguzzi, and Mr. Bill Angelone. A very special thank you to Chief David R. Hall (retired) for hiring and promoting me to Police Detective. Also, many thanks to Former Harrison Supervisor, Stephen Malfitano for swearing me in and signing off on my promotion.
At Harrison Police Headquarters, many thanks to Chief Anthony Marraccini, Det. Lt. Edward Lucas, and Sgt. Christopher Provenzano for their continued friendship and guidance. To the many friends at 650 North Street who are retired or still working, thanks for the stories and memories.
There are many who read the first stages of Back In Town that deserve recognition for their invaluable criticisms and recommendations, especially Carmen Delessio and Sean Rubeo. Thanks to Madeline D’Agostino for taking the time to proofread and comment on the manuscript. I am very appreciative of all your help.
To my editor, Philip Newey, you are the best at what you do. Thank you for guiding me in the right direction. Karri Klawiter, you have done the incredible once again, thank you. To the greatest web designer, Vincent D’Agostino, for continuing to make my website incredibly cool.
To my awesome book formatter, Jason Anderson of Polgarus Studio, excellent job in creating the interior layout.
To my favorite doctor and friend, Dr. Foster Malmed, thanks for keeping my spine in tip-top shape. Thank you for introducing my family to ASEA.
To my brother, Rick DiGiacomo, for always being there for me.
To my family, my wife Dina and our three amazing boys, I am grateful for your constant love and support. Thanks for filling my days with humor, hope and memories that will last a lifetime.
The last installment in this series will be titled Last In Town, A Small Town Series: Book Three. I am currently working on this final manuscript and plan on having it available as soon as possible. The first chapter is included on the next page for your enjoyment. Please check my website at http://www.inasmalltownbook.com for further information including future releases.
Thank you for purchasing my book and for your continued support. Authors live and die by reviews. This is the best way for an author to get noticed in the literary world. If you have the opportunity please leave me a review on Amazon and Goodreads. A review takes seconds to create and can make a real difference in the lifespan of a book. I look forward to reading them all.
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My email contact is [email protected], please feel free to send requests, questions or comments.
Here is a glimpse of the opening chapter to Last In Town, A Small Town Series: Book Three
Chapter One: The Balls
The Hutchville Funeral Home has been preserving and displaying its deceased residents for a hundred years. Charlie Balls is tired of the long days primping and prodding. His dream of dancing professionally always caused heartache for his father. Charlie “Poppa” Balls, Sr., would never allow his gay son to embarrass the family name. “Poppa” was a giant man whose size Charlie Jr. is happy not to have inherited. Being compared to a vegetable for all these years has caused permanent damage to the younger Balls. He hasn’t eaten a string bean in years. But, since his father’s passing, Charlie has been dancing every night. He plays the delightful music of a different era and dances throughout the home, spinning and turning about, his feet side stepping the fresh cut flower baskets that are on nearby caskets.
He blames his father for his problems. A glass or two of eighteen-year-old scotch helps to ease some pain but it never helps him forget his obsession. Charlie doesn’t regard himself as being strictly gay because he does things to the bodies of both sexes. He is proud that he never abuses any of the children he has embalmed. Their faces always bring him to tears. An eternally sleeping child is beautiful. They already lost so much. Why take anything else from a broken young soul?
As a matter of fact, the older the stiff, the greater the arousal for Charlie. He would spend his weekends visiting the local nursing homes within Westchester County, always leaving behind a business card or two for the staff, promising them a “finder’s fee” for every customer. Tonight is a real treat for Charlie as he has been patiently awaiting this occasion. Zia Maria Mello, deceased, has arrived from White Plains Hospital and is lying uncovered on the cold steel table. As much as Charlie disliked his father, he despises Donny Mello more and was happy to hear of his death a week ago. Upon the arrival of Donny Mello’s crisped corpse, Charlie became enraged with
a deep seething anger. He wanted to have his turn but the charred remains were too far gone. He couldn’t do anything he had planned. But Zia Maria? Well, she was in for one hell of a midnight session. Charlie remembers as a little boy his father paying their hard earned money to Carlo Mello. Charlie was ecstatic to find out the “Godfather” was killed in Italy. This is turning out to be the best month of Charlie’s life.
Charlie uses a carpeted pet staircase to align the body exactly into position. He places each knee on the second step, laying the body over the top onto the downward ramp. Charlie is physically strong and handles Zia Maria’s petite frame with ease. His privates begin an outward charge as perfection is realized. Charlie climbs onto the uncomfortable aluminum table, quickly unbuttoning his trousers. He never uses a rubber; that’s too messy. The excitement that consumes him is primal. He will take no prisoners. The doggy-style position is his favorite no matter the sex of his no longer breathing victim. The ass slapping that ensues must have blocked out the noise coming from the staircase. At his precise moment of pleasure, Charlie realizes he is not alone.
As a newly hired police officer many years ago, some situations confused a young Donny Mello. Every new rookie makes mistakes and he would be no different. It took him years to perfect his craft and learn his criminal ways. But this current observation is not an everyday occurrence nor is it acceptable on any level. Donny Mello stands in disbelief of what is happening before his eyes. Fabrizio Demarco loses his dinner into a nearby slop sink. Donny doesn’t speak as he pulls a .40 caliber Beretta out of his suit jacket. Instead of making this quick, his first shot is to Charlie’s groin. The rage grows inside Donny as he picks up and slams Charlie Balls onto a nearby metal table. The fever inside blacks out the cuts, slits and quick movements of a blade Donny found nearby. Within a few minutes, shock overcomes Charlie and he sleeps as if nothing is happening. Meanwhile, a blood bath of activity is taking place at a speed only a fox could keep pace with.
Back In Town (A Small Town Series Book 2) Page 14
