Bye, Bye Love

by K. J. Larsen

  Joey grimaced. Bad news for the Ferrari.

  “I drove to your house. I wanted to tell you what happened and have you take me to the airport.”

  “You were at my house? Why the hell didn’t you come in?”

  “Because he was there.” Bernie crossed the room and kicked Doug’s bloody thigh. Doug was out cold and didn’t feel it. “I watched the man who tried to kill me in the park go into your house. I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know what to think.”

  “Christ,” Joey said.

  Bernie flipped Doug onto his stomach and looped plastic flex-cuffs tight around his hands and ankles. I didn’t even want to know why a quiet bookkeeper from Chicago had those in his desk drawer. In fact I didn’t want to know anything from here on out.

  Bernie put the warm blanket around Uncle Joey. We helped him to the car, sometimes stepping around Dixie who refused to leave his side. The girls jumped in the back and I gave them each a sausage.

  I slid behind the wheel and Bernie closed the door. “Take care of that shoulder. I’ll keep in touch.”

  “But what about Doug...” I faltered.

  “ Caterina,” Uncle Joey said. “Get me to the hospital before I bleed out in your car.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  It was the day after Doug went batshit and shot Uncle Joey in the Great Cheese State. Uncle Joey’s shoulder was mummy-wrapped and the five of us hunkered down in the man cave. Uncle Joey and Dixie, Chicago Police Superintendent Garry McCarthy, and me. And Captain Bob.

  Boy, girl. Boy, girl. Weiner.

  Garry McCarthy is Chicago’s top cop. He has a mustache and his ride is a long stretch black limo. Few of Chicago’s Finest get this close to their boss. Taking a bullet in the line of duty gets you a house call.

  McCarthy had a dual purpose for being here. The second was inside the manila envelope on Uncle Joey’s lap. The supe’s gaze fixed on it. When he left, we all knew Corey’s file would go with him.

  I found the envelope in my Prohibition cupboard with the contents of Bernie’s safe. The papers contained Bernie’s audit of the pension accounts. Bernie had pointed an unwavering finger at union treasurer Doug Schuchard.

  Doug had burrowed deeper in the funds than Corey imagined. The Chicago cops had taken a devastating hit. I knew when the scandal got out, every cop in Chicago would be pissed. The media would have a feeding frenzy.

  McCarthy lit Uncle Joey’s cigar. Then he lit his own and tossed the lighter to Captain Bob. The cigars were Cuban and Joey had a nice box of them. The supe didn’t seem to notice. Or more likely, he has his own box at home.

  Garry McCarthy is one of the most powerful men in Chicago. But hanging out at Uncle Joey’s, he was one of the boys. He smoked contraband cigars and drank the best whiskey that ever fell off the back of a truck. Uncle Joey was feeling no pain. The pain killers had kicked in. His eyes had a drug-happy glaze. If he took one more pill, he might just offer the supe a Ferrari.

  Captain Bob squirmed in his chair as if his boxers had hemorrhoids.

  His retirement was months away and he knew he was in trouble. He’d bungled this case. He’d pissed off the Pants On Fire Detective Agency. Now he was wondering what the odds were of me keeping my big mouth shut.

  It didn’t look good for him.

  I had called the captain yesterday morning before breezing to Wisconsin with Joey.

  “Good-morning, Captain Bob,” I said.

  “Good-bye,” he said.

  “Wait! I’m calling about the murder at the park. How’s the investigation going?”

  Captain Bob choked on a scoff. And probably a donut.

  “I don’t know how I can be clearer. There is no investigation, Caterina. We have no body, no suspect, no motive. No case. And one clearly unbalanced woman.”

  I fired a scoff back. “No case? This is the hottest story in Bridgeport. We’re talking murder. And body snatchers. I was clobbered three times this week.”

  “I bet they were head shots.”

  I ignored that. “What about the bombed Ferrari? The parks imposter who hijacked the body was snuffed. And there are unanswered questions around Corey Corcino’s death.”

  He exhaled. “I didn’t believe the satellite story either. The guy was a jumper.”

  I shook my head incredulously. “My favorite silk dress is ruined. Do you honestly think I’m fabricating these bumps and bruises?”

  “I do. Give the woman an Emmy.”

  I heard my teeth grind. “Nobody can make up a mess like this, Bobby. If I could come up with this crap, I wouldn’t dangle from hotel windows and stalk cheaters for a living. I’d write a flipping novel.”

  A haze of cigar smoke hovered over the man cave. The temperature was cool enough but sweat beaded on Captain Bob’s brow. His facial twitch was working into a spasm. I had reported a murder and he blew me off. The evidence had been there but Bob refused to look at it. He could only hope that his boss wouldn’t find out.

  The faceless body in the park was one piece to a puzzle that led to another. Rocco, and Jackson, and Uncle Joey, and a couple ex-spies, and the church bingo lady, and even Cleo flashing her hoohah over Provenza’s fence, uncovered others. When the pieces all came together, they made a perfect picture of Doug Schuchard’s murderous, lying ass.

  Captain Bob looked as if he was gonna be sick.

  The head honcho was here. He wanted to know how one man managed to murder three people, shoot one of his officers, and rape the police pension fund while chugging beers with the Ninth Precinct at Mickey’s.

  It was a fair question.

  “Cat cracked this case open when she discovered a body in the park,” Bob said trying to schmooze me.

  I threw him a look. I’m not easily schmoozed.

  “The credit goes to my partner,” I said. “Inga found the body. A two-bit crook who worked with Doug Schuchard stole the body. His name was Toby Smoak. He became one of Doug’s victims.”

  “This isn’t the first time the Ninth Precinct and Cat’s Pants on Fire Detective Agency teamed up,” Uncle Joey said proudly.

  “What is it now, Bob? Three, four cases?” I smiled at the top cop. “Bob and I kick ass. We make a mean team. With my partner, Inga, of course.”

  Bob slugged down his drink and choked.

  I slapped his back. “Supe, this man is an inspiration. It’s a win-win when we combine our resources. Isn’t that right, Bobby?”

  Joey swallowed a gulp of laughter.

  “Intriguing,” McCarthy said. “I’d like to hear more. And I wouldn’t mind meeting your partner, Inga.”

  I smiled. “Her big brown eyes will blow you away.”

  Bob had the look of a man searching for a lifeboat on a sinking ship.

  McCarthy’s head bobbed up and down. “Robert, you’re lucky to have this woman on your team. She is going places. If you’re smart, you’ll bring her over to the Ninth and pin a badge on her.”

  I gave a giddy laugh. “Gee. Would I be able to work with this man?” I threw an arm around Bob’s shoulder. “Just think, Captain. I could be by your side twelve, sixteen hours a day.”

  “But I’m retiring,” he protested, his face turning beet red.

  “Nonsense. You’re in your prime.” The Chicago Police Superintendent fingered his mustache and winked. “Your retirement isn’t written in stone. Is it, Bob?”

  ***

  The supe downed a last swallow of hijacked whiskey and put on his coat.

  Uncle Joey handed over the manila envelope that Corey had given Bernie. Corey’s simple gesture had triggered an insanity in Doug Schuchard that would cost three men their lives.

  Garry McCarthy shook Joey’s good hand. “The people of Chicago thank you for your service. When you’re up for it, we’ll have an award ceremony. The press will be there.”

  “Cool,” Joey said. �
�Maybe I’ll finally impress my Harvard son.”

  “Harvard?” McCarthy smiled. “Smart kid.”

  Joey shrugged. “The boy doesn’t know a damn thing about football.”

  The supe laughed and dropped his cigar in the ashtray to burn out.

  Captain Bob drained his glass. “We’re gonna find the bastard, Superintendent. I can promise you that.”

  “Good luck with that,” Uncle Joey said as solemnly as he could, considering he couldn’t hide the silly grin plastered on his face.

  “I’m assigning my best detectives to finding this guy,” the captain said. “I’ll be in contact with the FBI and Interpol later today.”

  “Interpol?” I said. It sounded like overkill.

  “You can bet Doug Schuchard is on a tropical island by now,” Bob blabbed smugly. “Sucking down piña coladas and living high off union funds.”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  But I doubted it.

  McCarthy folded his arms across his chest. He had something to say. And he expected pushback.

  “I met with the mayor this morning,” he said.

  “I bet that went well,” Joey deadpanned.

  “The mayor is, as I am, deeply disturbed that one of our own would gouge the police pension accounts. The morale of the men and women who serve under our watch is at stake here. As is the public trust in elected officials. And a grueling, national embarrassment.”

  “A helluva year for an election,” Uncle Joey chuckled. “I smell a cover-up.”

  “The mayor prefers ‘containment,’” McCarthy said.

  “Politics,” Bob spat.

  “To be fair, the mayor is facing a tough reelection,” I said. “A scandal like this could kick his legs out from under him. It’s not fair. It’s Doug’s bullshit.”

  “I didn’t vote for the guy the first time,” Bob grouched.

  McCarthy’s uncompromising gaze made the circle. His eyes bored into each of us. “What I’m about to say doesn’t leave this room. Do you agree?”

  Joey giggled and swallowed another pain pill.

  I finger-crossed my heart.

  “O crap,” Captain Bob said.

  “The situation has been addressed. There is no scandal,” McCarthy said quietly. “The mayor assures me by the time I leave here, all missing funds will have been deposited to the pension accounts.”

  Bob blurted a horrible, choking sound. I slapped his back.

  “Robert, I appreciate your fine work,” McCarthy said. “As of now, my team will be taking over the investigation of Doug Schuchard and Toby Smoak. All case files are to be turned over to my office immediately.”

  Captain Bob stammered.

  “I understand a few other people are aware of the hacked pension accounts.”

  “Ex-spies,” I said. “They’re trained to keep secrets under torture.”

  Captain Bob’s face twitched. “With all due respect, it isn’t right, sir. You’re saying the city is funneling funds around to cover the police pension losses? Isn’t that morally reprehensible? I mean, how can that even be possible?”

  “What can I say?” McCarthy smiled broadly. “This is Chicago.”

  ***

  I stayed with Aunt Linda and Uncle Joey and Dixie that day. Friends dropped by with flowers and gifts and a startling variety of casseroles.

  My parents brought Mama’s Italian sausage and spinach cannelloni, a Tupperware of cannoli, and half a lemon layer cake. For once, Mama didn’t worry about Linda purging her cannoli.

  Mama looked at Joey and bit her lip worriedly. “Uncle Joey is in terrible pain.”

  Joey grinned through an oxycodone blur.

  “Perhaps we should call off the wedding,” she said.

  We all felt Papa stiffen. Even Dixie perked her ears.

  Papa’s quiet voice sounded almost dangerous. “Isabella DeLuca. You and I are getting married tomorrow. My brother, Joey, will be there. I’ll carry him into the church and hold him up through the service if necessary.”

  He lightly slapped Mama’s bottom and she blushed, pleased. Papa was not gonna spend one additional night in the guest room.

  “That is so sweet,’’ Linda sighed. She held a creamy cannoli to her lips and for once Mama didn’t flinch.

  Uncle Joey just laughed.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Mama and Papa had a big, joyful wedding.

  The house was packed. The sweet smell of flowers filled the chapel and the organ played the great hits of the eighties. Papa stood tall in his white Miami Vice suit. He didn’t look at all like Don Johnson to anyone but Mama.

  Papa’s hand rubbed his bum where he’d taken a bullet for the people of Chicago. Sort of.

  Uncle Joey touched his left shoulder. He was Papa’s best man and he was a little pale after losing so much blood yesterday. His arm was in a sling and the powder-blue tux draped over his left side.

  The two brothers were Chicago’s Finest. They each took a bullet. And they were both heroes. From now on when Papa rides in the Bridgeport parades, Uncle Joey will ride next to him.

  Aunt Linda sat near the front between Maria and the twins’ long­ suffering wives. She’s a stunning woman. And she rocked the Bulgari gold and diamond watch.

  I called Linda last night from the hospital in Delavan. She was frantic by the time we finally made it home. Her eyes were a mess of red. Not unlike Uncle Joey’s shirt. When a big, black dog jumped out of the car, she jumped back and with an ear shattering squeal.

  But once Uncle Joey explained how Dixie had saved his life, there was nothing more to say. Dixie was welcomed into the family.

  Cleo waved at me. She was rockin’ the Cyndi Lauper look, sitting next to a cocky Indiana Jones. The whip would be on Frankie’s lap. Or perhaps Cleo’s.

  There was a soft whimper from the front of the church and Nonna Deluca sobbed into a white hanky. Nonna lives with Uncle Rudy and Aunt Fran now. Her memory isn’t what it used to be. Sometimes my grandmother needs to be reminded that her bra isn’t worn over her dress.

  “I thought they were married,” she wailed. “What about the children?”

  Aunt Fran whispered something in her ear and popped a pill in her mouth. Uncle Rudy dragged a silver flask from his pocket and poured something down her throat that made her choke a little. And then smile. She was happy after that.

  I glanced around the church for some eye candy. Savino isn’t hard to pick out in a crowd. He’s tall, drop dead gorgeous, and definitely M.I.A.

  “I’m gonna kill him,” I muttered through my bright smile.

  Sophie gave a little snicker. She keeps her husband on a tight leash.

  She’s like Mama but scarier.

  Chance had called three times that morning to assure me he’d make it to the wedding. The last time I spoke with him, I was getting my hair and make-up done. Uncle Joey had called in a favor to a famous Chicago make-up artist he’d let off once. The guy’s whole team was there. The Delucas never looked so good.

  I steeled myself for the kind of big hair a can of lacquer can pull off.

  But the stylist was a man of compassion. He turned my long, dark hair into a funky Cher. I told him Sophie adores the fried, processed, chemically-treated, big-eighties hair. She looked like a rock star on steroids.

  “I won’t miss the wedding, babe,” Chance said the last time he called. “You have my word.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “I’ll be getting dressed on the plane.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I knew I probably wouldn’t make it back to my place before the ceremony so I picked up something to wear down here. I’m coming as Magnum P.I. You know, Tom Selleck. He was cool, back in the day.”

  This could work, I thought to myself. Magnum was hot.

  “Uh, where are you, Savino? Cuz I’m pretty
sure I hear a helicopter.”

  “’Nevada. But I won’t let you down, Babe. Don’t worry.”

  “Bite me.”

  Click.

  Mama’s two sisters played matrons of honor. They were having so much fun with Mama’s wedding, they were planning a second go­round for themselves. Their husbands weren’t speaking to either of my parents.

  The twins squirmed a bit in their tuxes and I could tell they wanted to scratch something. My brother Michael had a small red smudge on the side of his mouth. To the inexperienced eye, it appeared to be lipstick. But I knew better. It was Hot Tamales. His pocket rattled a bit when he walked. He had a box of candy in his pocket. Vinnie’s, I guessed, would be Mike and Ike’s.

  Rocco looked surprisingly at ease in his powder-blue ruffled shirt. The stylist had sexed up his hair and for once, every shirt button was fastened.

  Maria smiled at him with her big, brown, doe eyes. They could’ve been the only ones in the room.

  My sister Sophia was in her glory. She loves romance and weddings and kids. It was nice to see her without a baby attached to her breast.

  Sophie’s boobs weren’t happy though. It had to be past feeding time because the girls seemed to grow before my eyes. There had to be an extra pint of milk in each one. A soft gasp escaped my sister’s lips and her eyes widened. She’d sprung a leak. My God, they were going to explode.

  Sophie adjusted her shawl to cover her chest. The men didn’t get it. A few women smiled.

  The organ trumpeted those first notes of the wedding march. Dom da da da, Dom da da da. Dom da and the congregation rose to its feet. The back doors of the chapel swung open and there was Mama.

  She was breathtaking. Mama is a beautiful woman in her own right. I don’t always notice it so much. When her mouth is moving you have to duck for cover. And Mama’s mouth is always moving.

  She wore a dress little girls dream of. Her strapless white gown had bling. It was embellished with crystals and beading and the long cathedral train floated when she walked. Her bouquet was a romantic mix of orchids and roses.