by William Cain
“The same. It wasn’t planned,” she explains. “If I tried to put him off, he’d have none of it. He’s relentless, and I like it that way. We’re marrying soon, and both of us feel the same way about each other. We’ve never felt like this with anyone else, and Battaglia or no Battaglia, it’s going to happen,” she flatly states, making her point that there is no backing down.
Leary studies her for a moment and decides there’s no impropriety. He also decides to not tell the commissioner this, at least for a while. Changing the subject, “I’m retiring soon. You know that.”
“Yes, everyone knows you want to begin a life of deep sea fishing and beachcombing with your wife and grandkids,” she replies in a manner congratulating him.
“The commissioner has decided you will be the stationhouses’ new captain, not common knowledge,” Leary informs her, adding, “When this case is resolved. This is what I’m waiting for, and I’m not leaving until that is done. However, I am making my announcement today, and there’s going to be some festivities at McAnn’s after work,” he tells her, and, reaching across, he puts his hand on her arm and conspiratorially whispers, “plan on taking car service home tonight.”
Translation: There will be some drinking.
◆◆◆
Addie Henson opens her eyes and finds she’s in bed with her underwear on, sans bra. Her mouth tastes dry, as if it’s been open for a while, and her head is pounding. The sheets are in disarray, and she smells like booze and fried food. She feels the other side of the bed, and Frank’s not there, then she remembers he’s gone to his mother’s for two nights to help her get a new car. She feels her head because of the headache and fights back the urge to vomit as her fingers get stuck in her messy hair. She stops fighting and remains still, waiting for some energy to get turned on inside her so she can leave the bed and head to the bathroom. For now, she’s reluctantly content to remain where last night left her. She needs some water, maybe a gallon.
Last night begins to creep back into her memory. Her immediate thoughts go to the arrival at McAnn’s. There must’ve been two hundred people there. She admits to herself that she doesn’t remember much past ten o’clock, and dread overwhelms her. Oh God, did I behave myself? she thinks, I’m going to be the new captain, did I screw that up? First, she decides to spank herself later, after she feels better and the headache is gone. Second, she resolves to never drink hard liquor in public. Ever, ever, ever.
Then she hears it. At first, she thinks the clank of a dish is from outside and she looks up to her window and sees it’s shut. She looks for her service weapon, but it’s not on the nightstand, so she quietly, quietly reaches out for the drawer and slowly opens it. Feeling around carefully with her fingers, she finds the weapon, and, as she, quietly as ever, pulls it out of the drawer, a shape appears in her doorway. She freezes, and, as the shape nears her, light gives way to reveal the identity of the noisemaker. It’s David Juvieux. In his hands he has two coffee cups.
“G’morning, Addie. If you feel like you look then you will need this,” and he holds one cup out for her to take. He sees the look of total surprise on her face and asks jokingly, “You want the other one, too?”
Total surprise or not, nothing is going to stop her from taking that coffee. She drops the service weapon back in the drawer and, holding her sheet to her as best she can, takes the offered cup, sips it, and decides this is the best cup of morning coffee she has ever tasted. “It’s strong,” she tells him with hot breath, relieved that it is strong. She needs that. “Wait. Why are you here? What happened last night?”
David just shakes his head pitifully, smiles, and tells her to get up, wake up, and they’ll talk. In the meantime, he’s going to put something together for them to eat and kill the hangover they both have. And is it ok for him to go through her refrigerator? She nods helplessly and, as he turns to go, she asks, emphatically, “What do you have on?” She has a confused look on her face, head tilted to one side, mouth slightly agape, her hair a mess. Whatever it is he has on, it’s way too small for him, and it looks like it’s developing a rip.
“Oh, this little thing. Addie, that’s your robe.” She halfheartedly wants to smack him. He’s actually laughing, but she doesn’t have the strength. That’s how he leaves the bedroom, trailing laughter behind him, wearing her deep blue house robe, and he disappears. But he didn’t close the door. And the next picture of dread settles in as she imagines he must have slept here, with her, last night, and she wants to scream. She pulls the sheets close to her, slides out of bed, and stands up, unsteadily. She closes the door, finds new clothes in her dresser, and puts them on. Next, it’s to the bathroom so she can do her business and clean up. She only put the coffee cup down to put something on, and she now carries it with her on the way to the toilet.
Her first reaction is that of surprise, as she doesn’t look as bad as she feels, and she quickly cleans up and leaves the room to find Juvieux in the kitchen. She has a lot of questions, and, if David slept with her last night, it’s going to be a really bad day for him, and for her. On her way there, she notices her sectional in the living room. Something is out of order, and the room is a little dark. As her eyes become clearer, she makes out a rumpled sheet and a throw on the sofa, and at one end, there’s a pillow. Total relief brings her new energy and focus. She looks up to the ceiling, to the heavens, “Thank you, Lord.”
As she enters the kitchen, Juvieux looks over in her direction, “Good morning, Addie, I set a spread for us. Hope you don’t mind. I toasted a couple of English muffins I found. It should soak up some of last night’s leftovers. Some party, huh?”
Henson, looking at the sliced fruit, hot coffee, and muffins, nods approvingly. “Thanks, David,” then, rubbing her temples, she says, “I have a headache the size of Texas, and you are making it worse wearing that robe.”
She takes her seat at the table, and, after he brings over a jar of raspberry preserves, he sits across from her. “We had a good time. Your captain’s a nice guy. We’re going to lose a good one.”
She nods, beginning to dig in. After a while eating in silence, they both begin to feel better, “Leary has had an interesting career. He’s respected. Did you know he’s ex-green beret?” Juvieux shakes his head, and she tells him, “Yup, he came from a large family and left home at sixteen. Said there wasn’t enough food to go around. He lied about his age and enlisted in the army. One day after returning from a ten-mile march with a fifty-pound pack on his back, he saw these guys in funny hats with shirts buttoned casually, joking with each other, and asked about them. He applied, got in, learned hand-to-hand combat, ordinances, survival, all that stuff. He served for eleven years, mostly as a military advisor in Cambodia after the Vietnam era.”
Then she slyly asks, trying to pry information from him on last night’s goings on so she can remember herself, “So you enjoyed last night? I didn’t see much of you.”
She catches him staring at her as he breaks into a smile of understanding, “Addie, you were with me the whole night.”
“Oh shit, you caught me.” Then, sheepishly, she adds, “I don’t remember much after ten. Was I out of line?”
“Naw, you were way cool,” and a second wave of relief spills over her. He adds, “We were both inebriated and your place was close. We took car service here, our own cars are still back by McAnn’s. It took me like thirty minutes to make the sofa into my bed last night, I was so plowed. Anyway, last night, all you talked about was Frank, Frank, Frank. If it wasn’t cute it would have been annoying.” They both laugh, holding their heads.
After they stop, she looks at Juvieux, “Please take that robe off before my hangover returns.”
◆◆◆
They’re waiting for car service to arrive so they can go fetch their cars. They know they’re cops, and their cars won’t get towed, but they don’t want to anger the parking gods. This is the South, and polite manners lend themselves to following the rules.
David asks Addie, “
So what do you think about your investigation into Elsie Battaglia’s murder? Any leads? Talk is you are up for a big promotion if you can close this out. As soon as you do, I’ll be taking action in connection with the surveillance of Battaglia’s home, and that will mean a big jump for me, too.” He’s referring to Riggoti’s murder, and that Battaglia is involved.
“I know I need to close this case, and I could make Gennarro Battaglia and, or, Reggi Thomas good for it, but something’s wrong, and all the evidence I have is circumstantial,” she tells him, adding, “I have another fellow gangster also good for it. So at least I’ve gotten down to these two final suspects and their motives. That’s about all I can tell you.”
Juvieux is confused, “Why Reggi Thomas? You mean the one with the dog? The one we found standing in front of his home in Heritage Hills? On the recording from July?”
“Yes, Battaglia and Thomas are engaged, and they started seeing each other openly almost right after the murder. It’s got conspiracy to commit all over it.”
Juvieux almost laughs out loud, “Where the hell did you hear that? They are so not engaged. They’re not even seeing each other.”
It’s Addie’s turn to be confused. Anything David tells her about Gennarro Battaglia is believable. Juvieux has had Jones tailed, and he knows every move that he has made for months, but it’s possible the two love birds are very clandestine.
Addie then begins to tell Juvieux about their trips together; Florida, the cruise, his driver, and on and on. She tells him about the six-week gap when her son couldn’t find her because she was jet setting with Ken Jones; at least, that’s what Reggi’s son-in-law Edwin said. She tells him she has seen Reggi Thomas wearing the huge engagement ring, it must have cost a quarter of a million.
Juvieux is looking at Addie with eyes that spell bewilderment, confusion, apprehension, all at the same time. They look at each other. Who’s right, who’s wrong?
Then resolve enters the picture and he tells Addie, “Let’s get our cars, go home, shower, and get dressed. Time to catch bad guys.”
Looking out the window, he adds, “Car’s here.”
Chapter 18 Reggi and Ken
April 24th
No man has a good enough memory to be a successful liar. Abraham Lincoln
Frank arrives in Heritage Hills to help his mother lease a new car. She wants it to be a Hyundai, like the one she has now, and they plan to see Cassie at the Asheville dealership. She can afford this style of car, but needs help, a co-signer, in securing the lease, since her credit has been ruined with her bad spending habits. Frank doesn’t mind. It’s trivial, and if it makes her happy, then it’s just one of those small stuff things that don’t bother him. He pulls down her driveway and parks to the side since they’ll be taking her car, turning it in today. Opening the front door, he calls out and hears her reply that she’ll be just a minute.
He looks around at the neatly kept interior. It looks like a model home. If anything, his mom is a very neat, organized person. But everyone has their faults, and hers is money. She just can’t save a nickel, and maybe being at the mercy of a monthly check from Social Security is what she needs. It takes her mind off of spending and diverts it to, well, better things. Like grandkids, church, family. He remembers speaking with her about Ken Jones and all the money he supposedly has. She told Frank that he knows her financial circumstances. Frank had asked if Ken knows how she became broke. After seeing her quizzical expression, he asked her if Mr. Jones knows what she can do to a man’s fortune, meaning she would just spend it all if she could. Even a billion dollars. They both had a good laugh over that one.
Frank suspects Reggi is involved with Ken Jones and possibly has inside knowledge about the wife’s murder in some peripheral manner because they started seeing each other in September, two months after his wife was killed. But the idea is farfetched. His mom can be angry and twisted at times, but she doesn’t condone murder. Maybe Ken Jones does, though. He is a retired gangster, and his Family is not a smalltime operation. He did a little reading up on the DiCaprios. What he could get online reflected a well-run criminal empire, complete with well-paid legal resources, a host of legitimate businesses, and a comparably large host of illegal interests. It was not a stellar resume.
Then there’s his drinking and binge episodes. If they do marry and he returns to alcohol, his mother will be back where she was with her first husband. He talked about it with his sister Megan and told her that Patrick, Megan’s oldest son, would be the first to confront Ken Jones should he become physical with his grandmother. Things like that escalate, and the police get involved quickly. Megan brushed it aside, but Frank told her, pointedly, that crimes of passion happen exactly this way, and that she should be a little worried. In any case, he knows he can’t stop his mother from marrying him. She makes her own decisions and always will. It’s just a cause for worry, what with all this alcoholism, mob land stuff, senior citizens, murder, money, no money. And then there’s Charlotte and Edwin, always in the background encouraging Reggi to follow through with her plans to marry Ken Jones. Charlotte has become money hungry and is willing to put her mother’s, Frank’s mother’s, life on the line in order to prostitute herself and open the bank doors for those two losers. Frank just wants to go back to New York, with Adelaide, and change his phone number.
◆◆◆
Elsewhere, while Frank and his mother head off to Asheville to lease a new car, Gennarro Battaglia, Gen, Biggie is rereading the report Roger gave them. He is on fire, and probably shouldn’t have started drinking so early today. His anger is causing him to lose control, and that’s not good, and he knows it.
He hates being alone in the house. At times he finds himself sending echoes through it, just to hear someone shout back. How desperate is that. There have been moments he wants to start throwing things—lamps, dishes, his glass filled with Woodford bourbon, you name it. He is angry, and he always sees satisfaction. He gets his way, and he’s used to it. But not this time. Success has been elusive. By now, he’s sure Riggoti didn’t have Elsie killed and himself targeted. Helen made that clear. She was the button man, and Spadaro and that prick Mitch will eat a bullet and be humiliated and tortured at the same time. It’s unusual to want to inflict pain in his line of work, but when it’s personal, then it’s personal, and slow, painful deaths provide a level of comfort, if you will.
Battaglia decides to confront Reggi today. He’s fuming, rereading the report about her and himself as Ken Jones marrying is adding up to make him angrier and angrier. Who is she to be telling people these things? Battaglia is a very private man. And now that he knows Reggi Thomas is looking through mugshots to identify the killer, he is certain that she knows something. His patience is dying, and he wants answers. Only Reggi can give them to him, she has what he wants. If he has to threaten her, he will.
He decides to take a nap. He’ll see Reggi Thomas later. He’ll kill her if he has to.
◆◆◆
Frank and his mother met with Cassie at the dealership and are driving away in a new Elantra. Reggi’s pretty happy with it, it’s just like the one she had to turn in. At her age, she doesn’t want to learn all the new do-hickey’s of another automobile. This one’s black with a tan interior, and it has a lot of the features she likes—back up camera, heated and ventilated seats, hands-free dialing, navigation, and on and on. And it’s cheap.
She looks over at Frank, “I told you Ken bought me a Mercedes AMG, Frank? I told him I wouldn’t take it until after we’re married. It’s one of the reasons he respects me, that I live within my means and don’t take his hand-outs.”
Frank smiles and looks briefly at his mother and feels like barfing, “That’s great, Mom.” Inwardly thinking, I hope this dumb guy Ken Jones knows what my mom is all about. He may be a retired gangster, but he’s walking right into the lion’s den. She will reduce him in size in one year or less. I guess she must be a pretty good catch, even at her age.
Repeating himself, stari
ng straight ahead while he drives her new car, “That’s great, Mom.” He looks at her again; she is so pleased with herself. It’s comical.
“I told him he has to stop drinking and meet my family,” she tells him. He’s heard this before. “I said ‘Ken, you are killing yourself.’ And I think he finally listened. He stopped his drinking, totally.”
“His family should be very pleased with you, Mom,” he replies.
She glances at Frank, “Well, they are. But his son that lives in Arizona still thinks I’m a gold-digger. He’s going to leave his entire fortune to me. He tells me his children are all taken care of. It would be nice to have some money, don’t you think?”
“Sure, but you better get ready for a legal battle. Now, let’s change the subject Mom. This is becoming morbid. Nobody’s dying today. Tell me more about Ken, when am I going to meet him?”
Looking at the expressway, she tells him to take the next exit. She sees the expression on Frank’s face. “Now listen to me,” she says contritely, “we’ll take the back roads home and skip having to go through town. Just take the exit, and then go right. No, I mean left. Yes, left, that’s it. Just do it and stop being a baby.”
“Tell you about Ken? Well he’s seventy-seven.”
“I thought you told me he’s seventy-six.”
“Well, he’s seventy-six and a half.”
“What? Is he like a little kid? When is the last time you told somebody you were so and so old, ‘and a half.’”
“Do you want to hear about Ken or not?”
“Sure, Mom, just giving you a hard time, go ahead.”
“Well, he’s a very kind man. I’ve changed him a lot. He’s not rude with waiters and stuff like that anymore. He pays people better.” Then, exasperatingly, she adds, “why is it that rich people are so cheap? He was paying the caretakers of his properties, his driver here, his skipper and engineer on the yacht…well, he was paying them the minimum. People can’t live on that. I advised him and he agreed, and they’re happier now that he respects them for their hard work, recognizing it with good, traditional pay. And bonuses, yes, that too. A lot of his clouded judgment came from drinking.”
