by Lois Winston
I wondered how much Erica had told Dicky about me-not to mention everything else that had recently transpired at Trimedia. Had she told him about Vittorio's pending lawsuit? How scared she was of losing her job? She'd previously admitted having told him about Marlys.
My Jessica Fletcher mode kicked in. I now knew who had killed Marlys. And Vittorio. Motive? To help his girlfriend get rid of her Simon Legree boss and move from Bottom Feeder to the higher echelons of American Woman. Vittorio bought it because his lawsuit threatened to destroy Erica's newfound success. Talk about a supportive boyfriend!
I kept my hands shoved deep in my smock pockets and offered Dicky or Ricardo or whatever-his-name what I hoped came across as a friendly-and innocent-smile. "Nice to meet you, Dicky."
He stared at me without saying anything, only cocked his head in a semi-nod, his features remaining as vacant as the motels on the Jersey shore during a blizzard. Was he trying to figure out what I had overheard? Wondering if I suspected he was Ricardo?
His silence unnerved me. "Erica tells me you're an independent financial consultant?"
"You could say that."
I stretched my smile broader. "Well, I'd better get back to work and finish up my project. Have to pick my kids up in a little while. See you Monday, Erica" I waved as I started to head for my cubicle.
"I don't think so," said Dicky.
I turned around to find myself face-to-face with a very nasty looking gun.
DICKY CLAMPED ONE OF his hairy paws over my forearm and jabbed the nose of the gun into my ribs.
"My God, Dicky! What are you doing?" cried Erica.
"Shut up, Sweet Cheeks. Your friend here knows too much. I'm gonna have to take care of her."
"Knows too much about what? What do you mean take care of her?"
"Your boyfriend isn't a financial consultant, Erica. He's a loan shark and a murderer."
"No!" Tears swam in Erica's eyes. "She's wrong, isn't she, Dicky? Tell her she's wrong."
"Erica! For God's sake. Look at the gun! That's no Super Soaker he's poking into me."
"I don't understand," she whimpered.
"You don't need to understand nothing. Just do as I say," said Ricardo. "Unless you want to wind up just like your friend."
"But, Dicky-"
He spun around, jerking me with him. I tripped over his feet and fell to the floor. My knees slammed against the rock-hard Terrazzo. When he yanked me up, he nearly ripped my arm from its socket. I cried out from the pain.
"You're hurting her," said Erica.
Dicky waved the gun in her face. "So help me, you're really pissing me off, Erica. I'm gonna smack you good if you don't shut up!"
She sniveled as she backed up against the wall. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you angry, Dicky. Please don't yell at me."
He studied her for a moment, then grunted. "Okay. I forgive you. Go get that purple cord stuff that was on the shelf in there." He motioned toward the Models Room with his chin.
Erica stepped inside and came out a moment later with a spool of macrame cord. "This?"
"Yeah, that. Now we're gonna take your friend here out to the car. Nice and quiet." He poked the gun deeper into my side. "Got it, Sweet Cheeks?"
"Got it."
"Where are we going?" asked Erica.
"Never you mind." He jerked me toward the stairs. "You see anyone, you don't say a word."
I nodded.
He dragged me down the stairs. Erica followed.
My mind raced. If Ricardo had killed Marlys and Vittorio, he'd have no qualms about snuffing out my lights, as well. My only hope was that his greed overpowered his murderous tendencies. "If you kill me, you won't get your fifty grand," I said.
"Remember those friends I told you about, Sweet Cheeks? You're gonna work for them full time." He dragged the barrel of the gun down my torso. "Twenty-four/seven. No vacations. No benefits."
"What money?" asked Erica. "What friends?"
"None of your concern," he said.
If I was going to get out of this situation alive, I needed Erica's help. And the only way to gain that was to make her realize how high Dicky rated on the Creep-O-Meter. "I guess you didn't know your boyfriend helped my husband steal fifty thousand dollars from my mother-in-law, did you?"
"No, that can't be true. Dicky? Tell her it's not true." Erica's voice was a high-pitched whispery plea.
Ricardo squeezed my arm so tight it went numb. "That money belonged to me," he said. "Karl owed me. We had a business arrangement."
"Don't believe him, Erica. He tried to kill my mother-in-law," I said as he dragged me out the side door. A black sedan with New York plates was parked directly in front of the door, its massive trunk facing us. Scenes from The Sopranos flashed before my eyes.
"Grab my keys outa my left pants pocket," Ricardo ordered Erica.
"Erica, please! You have to help me!"
Refusing to make eye contact with me, she stared at the blacktop and mumbled, "I'm sorry, Anastasia" Then she reached into Ricardo's pocket and pulled out a set of car keys. "Here" She held them out to him.
"Do I look like I got a third hand? Open the goddamn trunk."
Erica pressed the remote. The trunk popped open. No way was I going in there without the fight of my life. I jerked and squirmed, flailing my one free arm and kicking Ricardo in both shins. "Erica, help me! He killed Marlys."
"Shut up!" He swung down with his gun hand, and everything went black.
I awoke in a nightmare, my body slamming and banging and bouncing back and forth, up and down, against the hard, rough sides of a small, cold, pitch-black prison. My head throbbed. I couldn't see, couldn't move. My arms were pinned to my sides, my legs bound together, my mouth taped. In the distance I heard voices. Shouting. Crying. I strained to listen.
"I gave you your big break, for crying out loud. Act a little grateful, why dontcha?"
"But, Dicky, you killed Marlys?"
"So? Everyone hated her, right?"
"Y ... yes."
"So stop sniveling. She made your life miserable. I took care of it. Did you a huge favor. You should be thanking me, Sweet Cheeks, not bitchin' about the bitch." "
I know, but-"
"But nothin'. It's not like you ain't seen stuff like this before, being who's kid you are an' all. Watcha think I do for your old man, anyways?"
"But you tried to make the police think Anastasia killed Marlys. Why? She's my friend."
"Some friend. She tried to steal from us. Her husband was into me for fifty G's. So's now I owe your old man, and that ain't no good thing, Sweet Cheeks. Joey Milano don't like excuses. From anyone. Besides, that's fifty G's less you inherit some day. You wanna be friends with a bitch who'd steal from you?"
"N ... no."
"So's now you understand the gravity of the situation, right?"
"What are you going to do with Anastasia?"
"She's more trouble than she's worth. I'm gonna get rid of her."
Erica started sobbing. "Please, Dicky, please don't kill Anastasia.
"Would you stop with the blubbering!"
I heard a smack.
Followed by a gasp.
Then silence.
Erica couldn't take care of herself, let alone help me. She had stepped from a controlling, abusive father, right into the arms of a controlling, abusive boyfriend. And not just any father or boyfriend.
Erica Milano. From The Bronx. Home territory of the Milano crime syndicate, one of the Big Five New York crime families. Talk about a duh moment. She certainly pulled the polyester over our eyes, acting like the poster child for Naivete Incorporated while hiding her true identity-the daughter of Murder Incorporated.
If I'd had a free hand, I'd have slapped my clueless forehead.
I was on my own, and the first order of business was freeing my hands. Ricardo had wrapped me like a macrame mummy. I rolled onto my stomach and felt the contents of my smock pockets jab me in the thighs. Shifting m
y weight, I discovered my cell phone still attached at my waist.
Dumb thug. He hadn't even frisked me before tying me up. Big mistake on his part. One I intended to make sure he'd live to regret.
Contorting my body, I squirmed around until I had dumped the contents of my smock pockets into the trunk bed. Then I scooted around in the dark, searching with my fingertips. Pencils. Markers. Assorted google eyes, sequins, and beads. A bottle of tacky glue. A spool of quilting thread. A roll of fusible webbing.
Bingo! My fingers curled around my trusty X-Acto knife. No girl should be without one. With the knife pinched between my fingers, I flipped off the protective plastic cap and set to work on the macrame cord.
As the car sped toward whatever spot Ricardo had designated as my final resting place, I hacked at my bindings. I also wound up slicing off half my skin in the process, thanks to Ricardo's breakneck speed, which sent me hurtling around the trunk like a pinball on amphetamines. Figuring I couldn't bleed to death from cuts made by a three-quarter-inch blade, I forced myself to ignore the pain and kept chopping away at my restraints.
After what seemed like forever, I freed my arms and ripped the tape from my mouth. Not bothering with my legs at this point, I reached for my cell phone and called Batswin.
"Batswin" She answered on the first ring, and I breathed a huge sigh.
"I'm trapped in Ricardo's trunk. He's going to kill me," I whispered.
"Who is this? I can't hear you. Speak up."
I whispered as loud as I dared. "Anastasia Pollack. I'm locked in Ricardo's trunk."
"Where are you?"
"I don't know. I was at Trimedia, but he knocked me out. I don't know how long ago. What time is it now?"
"A few minutes before three."
I remembered glancing at the clock on Hugo's desk as I straightened up his files. "Then we're somewhere within a twentyor thirty-minute radius of Trimedia, but he's driving very fast."
"Can you describe the car?"
"A black Mercedes. New York plates."
"Any chance you caught the plate number? Or at least a partial?"
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to remember. The entire percussion section of the New York Philharmonic was tuning up inside my head, compliments of Ricardo's conk to my noggin. I searched my memory.
"Mrs. Pollack? Are you still there?"
"Yes, I'm trying to remember. A vanity plate. He had a vanity plate."
"What did it say?"
I remember thinking how appropriate. And stupid. But why? The car hit a pothole. My head slammed into the top of the trunk, sending my teeth through my tongue. I tasted blood and groaned.
"What happened? Are you all right?"
"Sure, Detective." I spit out a mouthful of blood. "I'm having the time of my life-what's left of it."
"We'll find you. I promise."
"Great. You think you could maybe do it before I'm swimming with the fishes?"
"My partner's putting out an APB as we speak, but a tag number would speed things up."
"That's it!"
"What?"
"Up. The tag read UP2NOGD"
She snorted. "You're kidding."
"Hey, my brain is speeding toward a date with a bullet. Would I joke about a thing like that?"
"Sit tight. We're on our way."
Sit tight? Where the hell did she expect me to go? "One other thing, Detective..."
"Yes?"
"I know who-" Static blared in my ear. A moment later, my phone went dead.
There was nothing else I could do other than free my legs and wait. And hope the cops found Ricardo's Mercedes before he dumped my body in some watery grave.
At least the wait proved educational. Erica, sounding as though she had forgotten Dicky had moments ago smacked her hard enough to rattle her fillings-or maybe because of it-stepped into full suck-up mode. "You sure have the cops fooled," she said.
Ricardo guffawed. "Dumb shmucks. I sure got'em chasing after their tails, don't I?"
"Except at one point I was scared they suspected me of killing Marlys."
"Hey, Sweet Cheeks, you know I wouldn't a let it come to that. Besides, I was always one step ahead of them, thanks to you."
"Me?"
((Sure. You did real good. You Bonnie, me Clyde, huh? Couldn't've set it up better myself."
((I don't understand."
((Remember the day you called all upset about that bitch boss of yours blaming you for something she wrote?"
((The article on Vittorio Versailles."
((Yeah. That one. You also mentioned the diamonds and her date later that night with what's-his-name"
((Emil Pachette."
((Right. Him. Anyways, that's when it comes to me. You know how I hated the way that bitch was treating you, making you do all her work and her getting all the credit. Not to mention the big bucks while you're making diddly-shit."
((Yes?"
"So's I figure nothing's gonna change as long as she's struttin' around like the Queen of the Nile."
((So you killed her for me?"
((Hey, what're friends for? And look where you are now. A big shit fashion editor. My Sweet Cheeks."
((No one's ever killed for me before, Dicky. I ... I'm overwhelmed."
((Anything for my Sweet Cheeks."
((So tell me, how'd you pull it off?"
((Easy. I arranged for the fashion fag to leave town. Then I called the switchboard and left a message for the bitch. Pretended to be this Emil guy and told the operator to tell the bitch I'd send a chauffeur to pick her up at the office." He laughed. ((Only surprise! It wasn't a limo jockey who showed up."
"But how'd you get her to drink the doctored wine?"
"How do you think? I held a gun to her head"
"And then you made it look like Anastasia had killed Marlys because you thought she was holding out on you?"
He snarled. "Stroke of genius that hit me while the fashion bitch was drinking the Merlot. Originally, I was just gonna tie her up and secure a plastic bag over her head once she passed out. Then I thought, why not rattle the widow's cage a bit? Really spook her. And give the cops someone else to focus their suspicions on."
"Instead of me?"
"Right. By the by, Sweet Cheeks, I know your friend's got the dough stashed somewheres. Maybe when I tell her I'm gonna snuff out her kids after I dump her body, she'll have an attack of sudden remembering."
"Wh ... where are we taking her?"
"Delaware Water Gap. We'll toss the body over the cliffs into the river."
Hurry, hurry, hurry, I silently commanded Batswin and her posse. I tried my phone again, pressing Redial.
"Batswin"
"Thank God!" I whispered.
"Mrs. Pollack? Why'd you hang up? I was afraid to call you back in case he heard the phone ring. Stay on the line so you can help us track him." "
I didn't hang up. We must have entered a dead cell zone. But I know where he's taking me."
"Where?"
`The Delaware Water Gap."
"That means he's probably on Route 80. We've got state troopers all over that road, and I'm in a helicopter searching overhead."
"Best news I've heard all day. By the way, he just confessed to killing Marlys, and I'm pretty sure he knocked off Vittorio Versailles."
"Confessed? You mean he's with someone?"
"Erica Milano. Did you know that she's Joey Milano's daughter?"
"Of course. Was she in on all this?"
"Not intentionally, but it turns out Ricardo's her boyfriend, and she's been feeding him enough details to keep him outsmarting you.
More puzzle pieces fell into place. Erica had been standing outside the conference room while Batswin and Robbins were grilling me the day after the murder. She must have overheard me telling them about Ricardo and how I agreed to help trap him in their sting. That's why later she was so curious about the duffel bag. But at that point did Erica realize Ricardo was Dicky?
And it was Dicky-or Ricardo-wh
o had given Erica an iPhone and suggested she copy all of Marlys's files to it in order to make dealing with Marlys's constant demands easier. I'll bet he downloaded those files to his own phone. Which would have given him access to all the e-mail addresses and phone numbers he needed to carry out his dirty work.
Ricardo continued to gloat about his success as I spoke with Batswin. I tried to listen to both of them at the same time, but the noise from the car made it difficult. "Hold on," I said.
"And you were responsible for the break-ins at Anastasia's house?" asked Erica.
"Yeah" He chuckled. "Piece a cake. I hit that place three times."
"Three? I only heard about the first two, but you didn't take anything, did you?"
"Sure I did. Not the first time, though."
"You went looking for the money?"
"Yeah, but some nosy buttinsky showed up. I trashed the place real good, though. Served her right for lying to me about the dough."
"You're sure she's lying? What if she really doesn't have the money?"
"Don't be stupid. She's got it, all right. Or she knows where it is.
"I don't know. What about the other times? Why'd you go back?"
"When you told me she and the cops were setting me up, I got the bright idea of planting a photo of that shmuck husband of hers with your bitchy boss. Make the cops suspect her even more of doin' in the bitch."
With everything else I had learned about my dearly beloved, at least he hadn't cheated on me. Well, at least not with Marlys. I might never learn what other secrets accompanied Karl to the grave, be they illicit activities or illicit affairs. And maybe that was a good thing.
I could have forgiven Karl his gambling addiction if he hadn't left us in a financial quagmire that ruined his sons' futures. After all, gambling is a disease, and I did utter that in-sickness-and-inhealth vow. But gambling isn't covered by medical insurance, and all things considered, I would have preferred my husband contracting leprosy.
I also doubted I could have forgiven him for cheating on me. And then there was the business about trying to kill his mother. Even if Lucille was the commie from Hell, that's no justification for matricide.
"Anastasia figured someone doctored the photo and planted it in Marlys's apartment," said Erica.
