One by One

by Sarah Cain

  “Oh, Alex. Maybe we need to stop pretending with each other.”

  Alex wasn’t sure that they had reached any decisions, except that they had a problem. They could fix it if only she quit her job and got pregnant. She walked to the bed, grabbed a throw pillow, and stuffed it under her dress. Then she walked back to the mirror. She wasn’t feeling the joy.

  He was right. He made much more money than she did. His career was booming. A “total package,” one of the senior staff had said at the last cocktail party they attended—smart, handsome, articulate. What did they expect? But she would always clench her teeth and smile. That was Sam: a wonderful show poodle. Alex had learned to dress sedately and keep her mouth closed, to be an asset.

  She tossed the pillow back on the bed. She was tired of being an asset. She had opinions and a big mouth. He’d have to deal with it, or she’d deal with him. But not now. She had too much to get done this morning.

  *

  Three hours later, Alex had stopped by Danny’s house to pick him up some clean clothes and shoes. She’d gathered the information and site maps detailing Cromoca Partners’ land holdings along with Danny’s personal notes. After checking in at the paper, she’d made her way toward the hospital and was now heading up to his room.

  She’d checked in on Kevin, who was still in the ICU but slowly gaining strength. That was good enough.

  Alex tapped on the door of Danny’s room. It was private, which made life easier. She peeked around the door to make sure the nurses weren’t doing anything embarrassing, but he was lying asleep, still in restraints, hooked up to slowly beeping monitors and oxygen. He was still getting IV liquids, though they’d stopped transfusing him, and he was still on a catheter. She eyed the collection bag hanging on the side of the bed.

  That little bastard Johnny Jeffords had beat the crap out of him. The right side of Danny’s face was the color of an eggplant, his eye a slit inside the swollen flesh, but asleep, he looked ten years younger, maybe because the tension was gone. Alex stood beside the bed and fished into the bag she’d brought from his house.

  “Okay, Ryan. I’m just fumbling around here. I brought you some clothes. I’ll hang them up for you so you don’t have to walk out in that hospital gown. And I brought notes on Cromoca and your notebook, but that’s for when you feel better. For now, I thought maybe you’d like to have this by your bed.”

  She pulled a photo of Danny and Conor out of the bag. It was a close-up of the two of them at a kid-sized table working on a puzzle. Danny had that giant smile as he hugged Conor close. He looked so alive, and she wondered if he’d ever look that way again.

  Fumbling in the bag, Alex pulled out a long piece of black jet. She’d found it on his nightstand, so maybe it was important. She set in front of the photograph. Old ladies wore jet beads. She’d have to remember to look up jet. Did it have some kind of significance? Maybe it had a special meaning for him.

  Alex pulled a green chair closer to the side of the bed and settled into it. Opening her laptop, she started to go over her files.

  “Alex.”

  She almost jumped out of her chair at the sound of his groggy whisper. “Hey, you’re awake. I was getting worried about you.” She took his hand and leaned close.

  “Someone was in here last night.”

  His eyes were sleepy and unfocused, but she could see him trying to get his thoughts together. Alex patted his hand.

  “How could someone get in here? There’re security cameras all over.”

  “Someone was here last night. He warned me about Cromoca. He told me who Tim Rosina’s sister was.”

  “Olivia Capozzi,” Alex said.

  “How did you know that?”

  “It’s in your notes. I can’t read a lot of your writing, but I can read names.”

  “Oh, Jesus, you’re right. I did know. But I still spoke to someone last night.”

  “I think maybe you were just trying to remember your notes. Think about it. Why would someone who didn’t want you to look into Cromoca come and give you information about Cromoca? It doesn’t make sense.” She settled back in the chair. “We are going to write this story. It’s going to be an asskicker.”

  “No, someone was here. Cromoca is part of something bigger.”

  “Bigger than what?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.”

  She smoothed his hair. “Okay, baby. I’ll have them check the tapes. Right now.” She paused and handed him the piece of jet. “What is this?”

  “Don’t laugh?”

  “I won’t laugh.”

  “It’s supposed to protect you from harm and heal grief. I don’t think it works too well.”

  She kissed his forehead. “I’ll have them check those tapes.”

  *

  Alex wasn’t surprised when Kevin Ryan’s partner, Jake, reported two hours later that no one had been caught on tape entering Danny’s room, though he did admit that the room was at an odd angle to the security camera.

  “It’s possible someone could get in and out, but you’d really have to know the layout. And why would you sneak into someone’s room just to chat?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did he say he was threatened?”

  “He said they had a discussion. It was weird.”

  “He was pretty snowed under. You have a lot of weird dreams when you’re that doped up.”

  “He said the guy was wearing scrubs. Could you just double-check?” She gave him a wide smile. “I’d really appreciate it.”

  He winked at her. “You know how to play it, don’t you?”

  “Will you do it?”

  He slipped her his card. “Absolutely. If you need anything else, you call me.”

  “Thanks, Jake. I’ll do just that.” Alex knew when to be diplomatic.

  64

  Ray Gretske lay on a floating lounger and drifted in a gentle rocking glide on the surface of his rooftop pool. From here, he could look out and see the ocean without the disturbance of small children and other people. He enjoyed his serenity.

  He heard the footsteps tramping up the wooden steps and tensed long before he stared up at the beefy man who loomed over him.

  “Well?” Ray said.

  “The police have closed the investigation into Greg Moss’s murder. They caught the guy. Some loser named Johnny Jeffords. He killed a bunch of people.”

  “Do you have names?”

  “Frank Greer. Stan Riordan. Len Piscone. Mark Piscone. A chick name Michelle Martin. Plus a bunch before that. The guy was some kind of nut job.”

  “Indeed. Do the police have a motive?”

  “Like being crazy ain’t enough?”

  Ray looked up and cocked an eyebrow. “No. I’m afraid not.”

  “Well, if there was another motive, I didn’t hear it. He was crazy, and he had a crazy mother.”

  “What about the detective?”

  “Eliot? He’s the guy who brought Jeffords down at some South Philly scrapyard. Jeffords was in the act of beating the crap outta some guy.”

  “A bad character.”

  “A real scumbag.”

  “Was any mention made about Cromoca Partners?”

  “Not specific-like. But some reporters been asking questions about Cromoca.”

  “What reporters?”

  “A woman from the Sentinel named Burton. Your friend Ryan. A couple guys from Camden.”

  Ray pushed the float to the side of the pool and hauled himself out. He wrapped himself in a white robe and stared out toward the ocean. On the beach, the sunbathers were just beginning to gather in force, and he looked away in disgust.

  “I’d build a wall, but then I couldn’t see the ocean,” he said. “Well, it seems that I picked the right time to unload Cromoca. I had hopes for it, but I’m afraid I was played on that one. Fools selling poisoned ground. Of course they were going to be found out. They got greedy. Let them sink or swim on their own. I think it may be time for a vacation. I dislike the Jersey Sh
ore in the middle of summer. Do we have anything on the schedule that I have to handle?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Very good. Deal with the congressman. Tell him I’m not interested in acquiring any new partners. He’ll be annoyed, no doubt, but I’m not getting involved with that situation. Maybe we’ll leak something to the Burton woman about Cromoca. That will be fun. That will make those Washington idiots dance and jump. Not too much yet, just enough to make them uncomfortable.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No. I’m taking a nap. Make sure I’m not disturbed.”

  “What about the cop?”

  Ray looked back over the ocean. He doubted that this Johnny Jeffords character had killed Greg. He was reasonably sure Ted Eliot got tired of his leash. It was always a possibility. Greg had gotten greedy.

  Maybe Eliot had done him a favor. Ray always knew that one day he would have to make changes, and now seemed as good a time as any. He had learned long ago that the only way to survive was to fly under the radar. Let people think less of you. It always worked.

  Cromoca was a small strand of a very large financial web filled with dangerous spiders. He’d always been careful to keep his finances separate and under cover.

  In any case, now was a good time to disappear permanently.

  He looked back at his associate. “Oh, I think we’ll let Mr. Eliot go in peace. I’ve never been one to hold grudges.”

  65

  When he was finally allowed to see Kevin, Danny barely controlled his horror at the sight of his gray-faced brother lying amid the monitors. His face was obscured by an oxygen mask, the blood pressure cuff tightened and loosened, and some monitor beeped. Two bags hung from the IV pole. Kevin had been in the hospital for a week, and he already seemed diminished.

  “Hey, Kev,” he said.

  Kevin rolled his eyes open with some effort. “Look shitty,” he said, his voice slurred.

  Danny swallowed. Kevin sounded broken, and now it was his turn to play the stronger brother. He leaned close. “You look shitty, too.”

  “Asshole.” Kevin moved his hand slightly, and Danny took it. Kevin’s big square hand felt cold, and it looked so pale against his own.

  “I know. I know. You need to get better so you can keep me in line.”

  “Jean?”

  “I’ll look out for her and the kids. Till you’re up and around.”

  Kevin nodded and shut his eyes. Danny kissed the top of his head. “You hang in there, Kev.” He didn’t say, “Please don’t leave me,” but he wanted to. He wanted to throw his arms around Kevin and beg him to get up, bat him on the head, and tell him everything would be all right. Life didn’t work that way.

  Kevin said, “Tired.”

  “I’ll let you rest, for now.” Danny squeezed Kevin’s hand. “Hey? I love you, Kev.”

  Kevin was asleep.

  *

  When he left Kevin’s room, Danny smelled his sister, Theresa, before he saw her. She’d always bathed in heavy-duty perfume that made his eyes water, and it comingled with the aroma of too many cigarettes. But she looked better than she had in years. Theresa had spent over thirty thousand of his dollars to repair her teeth and a few thousand more to upgrade her wardrobe.

  She’d gone back to her natural brunette and wore a leopard-print dress with a gold scarf, which might have looked good if Theresa had any curves left. Years of drug addiction had left her looking hollowed out. Still, she persevered, clacking down the hall in her scarlet four-inch platforms.

  “Yo, Danny. You see Kevin? I came to see him, and no one will let me in.”

  “He’s asleep, Theresa.”

  “I think Jean told them not to let me in. Like I’d bother him or somethin’. Jeez, I’m his goddamn sister, y’know?”

  “He’s very weak right now. I’m not sure his heart could take the sight of you.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I meant you look great.”

  She patted her hair with one hand and tapped her long red fingernails on the back of a chair with the other. “Well, I drove here from South Philly, and I had to park. It ain’t cheap, y’know?”

  Danny sighed. “I’ll take care of the parking.”

  “I’m glad I caught you anyways. I’ve run short.”

  “Aren’t you working?”

  Theresa folded her arms and cocked her head. “Please, how much do you think being the office manager at a dental office pays? My insurance is crap. You’re rich. You can fork over some bucks.”

  Danny heard the scratch of resentment in her voice. Theresa had led a hard and fast life. Now everyone was paying for it. He’d die with her hand in his pocket and her voice in his ear whispering, “You owe me.”

  “You want my help? You can help me,” Danny said. “My associate and I are writing a story. We need some background. You help us, I’ll pay you.”

  Theresa narrowed her eyes. “Sure, I’ll help.”

  “You talk to her. If she thinks you’re useful, I’ll pay you.”

  “You’re an SOB.”

  Danny took her by the arm. “We’re meeting in the cafeteria. I’ll introduce you. Her name is Alex Burton, and she doesn’t deal well with bullshit.”

  *

  “It’s not like Vic forced them kids to sell dope. Ask Danny,” Theresa sat back in her plastic seat and drank black coffee while she checked out the mostly empty cafeteria. The scent of burgers and Italian dressing filled the room. “Where are the goddamn doctors? Don’t they eat?”

  “We missed the lunch rush,” Danny said. “Are you trolling for a date?”

  “Go to hell, Danny.” Theresa glanced at Alex, as if trying to gauge whether or not she had a sympathetic audience. She sighed when she saw the stony look on Alex’s face.

  “Who were some of the kids who sold drugs for Vic?” Alex asked.

  “I don’t see why it matters now. Most of ’em are dead, and it’s not like you can persecute Vic.”

  “You mean prosecute,” Alex said.

  “No.” Theresa slammed down her cup and glared at Danny. “I mean persecute. ’Cause that’s what he does. Persecutes me.”

  “You look like you’re doing pretty well.” Alex pointed to Theresa’s purse. “That’s a Celine bag, and it looks authentic.”

  Theresa pursed her lips. “I deserve some perks. I work hard.”

  “If you want perks, you better earn them.”

  “I can walk away right now.”

  “And I can get another lowlife source a lot cheaper.”

  Theresa turned away from Alex and leaned closer to Danny. “You let her talk to me that way? I’m your sister.”

  “I told you Alex doesn’t like bullshit.”

  Theresa folded her arms. “Vic took care of you good.”

  Danny pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t going to argue with Theresa about the merits of the man who tried to introduce him to the joys of Mexican brown when he was fourteen. “Makes the pain go away,” Vic had said. “Stairway to heaven.” He’d been just smart enough to understand that nothing Vic was pushing made the pain go away.

  “Just tell us about the kids who worked for Vic and anything you might know about Tim Rosina,” he said.

  “It’s gonna cost you,” Theresa said.

  Danny exchanged a look with Alex. “Like I didn’t know that already.”

  *

  “And what have we learned from this?” Alex leaned back in the plastic cafeteria chair and waved toward their notepads, the stacks of coffee cups, and the empty bags of potato chips and peanut butter cups. Danny had handed Theresa five twenties and promised to transfer an unnamed five-figure sum into her checking account before she tottered off. He hoped she was heading home instead of upstairs to torment Jean.

  “Families are fun?” he said.

  She patted his hand. “As if we needed that lesson. Hang around and I’ll introduce you to mine.”

  “We learned that Vic Ceriano took lots of kids under his moldy wings and taught them
to sell drugs. Among other things,” Danny said. Vic Ceriano was a modern-day Fagin.

  “And among those kids was your old buddy Ray Gretske.”

  “Whose mother was one of Tim Rosina’s ‘Saturday Night Girls.’”

  Danny shook his head. “Ray was going to be thrown into juvie for pushing drugs to kids, but Tim Rosina pulled some strings. In return, Ray did some little favors for Tim.”

  “Like burn down some houses.”

  Danny nodded. He didn’t mention that Ray had already pretty much confirmed what Theresa said. He should have. Ray was a drug dealer. He’d torched houses as a kid. But he’d never been malicious. Maybe he would have turned bad on his own, but Danny had given him an assist. Ray had called him a lucky man. Danny wasn’t sure whether he was lucky or cursed.

  “Maybe you could leave Ray’s name out of this article. We don’t have any definite proof he burned houses.”

  “He might be Greg Moss’s missing business partner. Why do you want to protect him?”

  Danny shrugged. “Ray wasn’t a bad guy. He had a really screwed-up life. And my sister and her boyfriend made it worse.”

  “So you feel guilty?”

  “I don’t know. Write what you can prove.”

  Alex sat up straight. “Wait. Did Ray have a nickname? Jenna remembered someone called the Angel.”

  “The Alien. Because he always seemed like he was in another world.”

  “She called him the Angel. She was really definite about it.”

  “She called him by name?”

  “No.”

  “So? It could have been anyone in Vic’s merry band of delinquents. She believed I was her boyfriend. She was definite about that, too.”

  Alex nodded, though she seemed unconvinced. “Maybe they’re both right. Maybe to Jenna he seemed like an angel.”

  “Well, she’s in rehab in Lancaster. She lost both legs from the knees down. They’re keeping her there until she goes to trial for the murder of Ollie Deacon and your kidnapping and a whole host of other charges. You should go talk to her.”