Lloyd Corricelli - Ronan Marino 01 - Two Redheads & a Dead Blonde

by Lloyd Corricelli

  “It’s not my thing, Tony, you know that.”

  He ignored me and moved on to another subject, his favorite one.

  “Speaking of tail, did you see the broad in the green dress and the fur?”

  “Couldn’t miss her.”

  “I’d love to show her a good time.”

  “If you’ve got a couple grand to burn, I’m sure she’d do you.”

  “Hey fuck that, I don’t pay for no pussy.”

  “Because your pimp hand is strong?”

  “Damn straight.”

  On the way back to Tony’s place, we stopped at Kelly’s to grab some lunch. He put away two large roast beef sandwiches to my one, leaving no crumbs anywhere within five feet. I kept my hands away from his side of the table fearing for my fingers.

  I parked out in front of the condo and left the engine running.

  “You wanna’’ come up? I’ll give Nicole a call and have her bring some friends over.”

  “You’re determined to get me laid.”

  “Someone’s gotta take care of you, cuz.”

  Tony was such a good sharer but I wasn’t in the mood for debauchery. I had work to do.

  “I’m going to have to pass today, but maybe some other time.”

  “That’s okay. I probably should go do some fucking work anyway.”

  “People to see, legs to break.”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  We shook hands and he pulled me over into a hug. I groaned.

  “Fuck, sorry. The ribs, right?”

  “Yeah. Between you and Uncle Sal, they’ll never heal.”

  “You give me a call when you want some more help. This was pretty easy stuff.”

  “It’s only going to get harder from here.”

  “You think that bothers me?”

  “Never said it did.”

  “Well, whatever you need, you just call. That includes Marc too, even though he’s on the other side.”

  “So am I.”

  “Not anymore. Today you’ve taken the first steps toward the dark side, young Skywalker,” he laughed at his own joke. “I love that shit.”

  Tony paraphrasing Star Wars in his thick Boston accent was worth any bear hug. He stepped out of the Jeep and shut the door. He motioned for me to roll down the window.

  “Before the first snowfall, I’m going to have you knee-deep in poon.”

  Persistent bastard.

  NINE

  The first thing I wanted to do was find out who the Dodge Charger was registered to. I could have Shea run it, but he’d want me to come in and look through those mug shots and I wasn’t convinced we’d find out who the thugs were that way and it was very low on my list of priorities. Another option was to call one of my old OSI buddies but they’d start asking too many questions and I wasn’t ready to give answers. I’d have to get Marc to do it for me.

  I headed up Route 93 and cut over on 495 toward Westford. When I turned on the radio, it was still on Tony’s disco station. I changed it to classic rock and it was the Doors, Hendrix and the Stones the rest of the way.

  The Westford police station is located in the town center right across from the small common. Like many local towns, they were very proud of their Revolutionary War history and had a couple of cannons decorating the park. It was funny how an area so anti-gun could be so fond of cannons and statues of Minutemen with muskets.

  The parking lot was relatively empty and I slid into a spot next to a white, late model BMW. It wasn’t atypical to see a Beemer in this town.

  The station is part of the town hall complex that also included the main fire station and town offices. Though very modern, it was built to look like it had been there since colonial times with a large spire topped with a glass belfry on the main building. I’m sure the belfry must have served some purpose beyond its obvious visual appeal, but as of yet I hadn’t figured out what.

  I went into the small waiting area and asked for my brother. The town fathers had built Marc a wonderfully modern station, but he always complained that it was too small and cramped. He seemed to believe his station should be the size of Lowell’s even though his crime rate was a mere fraction of theirs. It was obvious station envy.

  Five minutes passed. He must have been with some town high-roller talking about a serious problem like the width of parking spaces at the library. I waited a few more minutes and he came out with a surprise, Diane Dunn.

  She was wearing a tan business suit, heels and a white shirt opened to reveal a hint of cleavage. Her perfume wafted through the air sending a jolt of electricity down my spine.

  “Hey, Ronan, what brings you this way?” Marc asked.

  “I was just in the neighborhood.”

  “You remember Diane?”

  She smiled and shook my hand.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Nice to see you again,” she said and made me believe it. “I was just talking to your brother about attending a fundraiser for Congressman LaValle.”

  “Isn’t the election only about three weeks away?”

  “One can never have enough campaign funds for the final push. Maybe you’d like to attend?”

  “I uh, probably have something planned that night. As a matter of fact, I think I have to wash my hair.”

  Marc rolled his eyes.

  “You don’t care for Congressman LaValle?” she asked, flickering her big green eyes at me like a Southern belle in heat.

  “Am I that transparent? Men like him made my military life a lot harder than it had to be.”

  “I’m sorry, but maybe if you got involved and spoke with him he’d have a better understanding of the issues.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said knowing I had no intentions of doing so.

  “I wish you’d honestly consider it. I need a date.”

  She turned and walked out and both my brother and I watched her go. After she was gone, he crossed his arms and glared at me.

  “For why?”

  I knew exactly what he meant without him saying it.

  “Just doing my part to expose the vast left-wing conspiracy.”

  “Whatever, Ronan. What’s up?”

  I handed him the napkin with Red and Goatee’s plate.

  “Run that for me.”

  “Anyone I might know?”

  “The guys who jumped me.”

  “You saw them?”

  “Yeah, they were leaving the escort service.”

  “Escort service? What the hell have you been doing?”

  “Remember the card I said I found at Karen’s?”

  “She worked as a hooker? Did you know?”

  “I prefer escort and of course not.”

  “Shit, I’m sorry. How’d you find out?”

  “A little bird told me.” Turnabout is fair play.

  “Fine, I don’t really want to know.”

  “By the way before I forget, Tony sends his regards.”

  “You’re hanging around with him?”

  I just shrugged. Our cousin’s profession deeply bothered my brother.

  “You didn’t let him hurt anyone, did you?”

  “No, of course not.”

  If he only knew, he’d be really upset at who was doing all the hurting.

  “Good, good. Okay, let me go run this and see what we come up with.”

  “I’m going to head home. Give me a ring on my cell phone when you get it.”

  “I’ll call you in five.”

  I went out to the parking lot, and there leaning on the white BMW with her arms crossed was Diane.

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t be long,” she said.

  “Waiting to extol the virtues of socialism to me?”

  “You’ve got me all wrong, Ronan.”

  “I do? Well golly, Miss Diane, I be so sorry.”

  She cocked her head at me and frowned. “That was so un-PC.”

  “I never claimed to be PC. You probably don’t run into many guys like me.”

&
nbsp; “Not since they took the statue of Neanderthal man out of the Museum of Science. It was scaring all the little kids.”

  Were we just insulting each other or bonding? I couldn’t tell.

  “You’re funny,” I said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Uh huh. I never knew you people could have a sense of humor,” I said.

  “I have a great sense of humor, tough guy.”

  “Everyone thinks they’re funny. Most aren’t.”

  She slapped my shoulder flirtatiously. I had thoughts of setting her up with Tony. That would be worth hours of non-stop chuckles.

  She said, “But, I am funny and I want to prove it to you.”

  “Doing standup at a club?”

  “No, wiseass. But since I think you’d be too uncomfortable at the fundraiser, we could have dinner Saturday night instead.”

  It had been a long time since a woman asked me out, and never one that looked like her.

  “You mean like a date?”

  “Yes. Truthfully, you intrigue me. I wouldn’t wait around here for just any man.”

  “What about the campaign? Isn’t there someone you should be shaking down for donations Saturday night?”

  “Don’t you ever stop?”

  “I’m like the Energizer Bunny of sarcasm; I just keep going and going.”

  “I like the sound of that,” she said in a sexy voice. “Pick me up at seven.”

  She handed me another business card, this one with her home address and phone handwritten on the back, jumped in her car and zoomed away with a little wave. I never got the chance to say “no.” There seemed to be some good chemistry between us, but I wasn’t so sure I was ready to go out on a date just yet. I still hadn’t found Karen’s killer and dinner with Diane might become a distraction to my task at hand. I would have had to be gay though, not to give it serious consideration.

  Twenty minutes later, as I was on my way home, my phone rang.

  “Sorry it took so long, but the system is working slow today. They’re working on the fiber optics in town,” Marc said.

  “What did you find out?”

  “The plate came back classified.”

  There was silence on the line. We both knew what that meant without saying it. It looked like my two pals were cops just as I had suspected.

  “You want me to try and find out who they work for?” he asked.

  “No, but they’ll be notified that you ran their plate so expect a phone call.”

  “Then we’ll know who they are; or at least what agency.”

  I had a queasy feeling in my gut. My instincts looked to be right again. Dirty cops were not something to be taken lightly. I tried to harness those same instincts to tell me whether I should continue this or back off and not risk ending up in a shallow grave.

  Instincts though don’t work like a Magic Eight-Ball. You can’t just shake them up and get answers like “it is certain.” They only work when they felt like working. One thing I was certain of without the benefit of instincts or a Magic Eight-Ball; I’d be spending a lot of time with Tony in the foreseeable future.

  TEN

  I wasn’t in the mood to make supper so I stopped to get something. There’s a great little sandwich shop around the corner from my house and I picked up a chicken parmigiana sub, and a six-pack of Harpoon Ale from the adjacent packy.

  I’m a fair cook when I put my mind to it but it has never really interested me. I learned how to make all the standard Italian fare, lasagna, meatballs and gravy, raviolis, etc. from my grandmother on my father’s side so I’m not helpless in the kitchen. On a rare occasion, I go nuts and make a huge feast, but living alone I usually get sick of it before I finish the food and toss the balance. Mostly, I just tend to eat out a lot.

  I planned to spend the night searching the net for info on Karen’s client list, and schedule the following day around the results. I had their home or work addresses but wanted to know more before I approached them. I doubted any of them would be too happy when I came calling. If I were using an escort service, I’d be pretty pissed if word got out, especially when the girl I was schtupping was killed.

  I called Tony to let him know about the cops but got his voice mail. It was happy hour, despite the fact there really aren’t traditional happy hours in this damned state, and by now he was talking smack to some hairdresser mere moments from taking her back to his place. I didn’t want to mess up his groove, not that I thought it was possible.

  I checked my mail and found nothing important. A few bills, junk flyers with coupons for free karate lessons and a postcard advertising a gun show in New Hampshire.

  I sat at my computer desk, eating the sub and drinking one of the beers. Using Google, I entered each man’s name. The first was Judge Simon Forester. He had been on the bench for nearly twenty years and according to the articles online, his reputation was that of a take no shit judge who ruled the courtroom with an iron fist. I also found a weepy article by the American Civil Liberties Union trashing him for his tough stance on criminal rights. He sounded like my kind of guy.

  The state website had his official photo, which made me chortle. He looked like Santa Claus with his bald head and long white beard. I found reference to three children, but no mention of a wife. Either he was divorced or a widower and didn’t have the time or the patience to go out and find women.

  I found all four of her other clients with relative ease. Two of them were CEOs of local high-tech companies and one was a well-known brain surgeon. The final name on the list was John Fontini, who as Tony said earlier was in fact now the Chief of Police in Medford. When I was his son David’s roommate in college, he was the chief of detectives. He and Dave’s mother used to come up to Lowell on occasion and visit. Like every good Italian, they would bring food. It was a great departure from our usual diet of Kraft macaroni and cheese.

  The state police had hired Dave after graduation and we’d kept in touch, mostly the occasional phone call or in the past five years with email. He was a Sergeant living out in the western part of the state assigned to Troop “B” in the Cheshire Barracks. I briefly considered calling him and discussing the situation, but I knew I wouldn’t appreciate it if someone called me about my father cheating on my mother with an escort. I might not even believe it.

  Approaching Chief Fontini wouldn’t be easy but I had to do it. His relationship with Karen wouldn’t be something he’d want out in the open no matter his current marital status. The easiest way to see him would be to just stop down at the station and hope he remembered me. I’m sure he would. There aren’t too many people around named Ronan Marino.

  I needed a break from my investigative duties so I went downstairs, turned on the television and sat on the couch. The Bruins were playing The Anaheim Ducks. With little deliberation, I quickly decided that a Lock Monster was way tougher than a Disney Mighty Duck.

  Sometime around the second period, with the Bruins ahead by four goals and five of the six Harpoon Ales gone, my attention started to wander. A concern came over me that a committed adult relationship with someone with no secrets or hidden agenda was too much to ask for. My love life had generally been a disaster and I really wanted to avoid further hurt.

  I started to go through my current options for the future with all the single women I knew. There was Jesse from the Raven Diner. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. As much as I liked her, there was nothing there I was interested in for life.

  There was Nicole, Tony’s big-breasted fuck buddy. I thought about her sitting on my cousin’s leather couch in that sheer white teddy, her huge breasts like two missiles popping in and out of it. That would smack of severe desperation.

  Then there was Cassie. Very hot, very young, very much linked to Karen and the escort agency. I didn’t think I could ever be able to be with Cassie and not think about Karen. I didn’t want to have to pay for her companionship either.

  Dr. Sadolovaki? She was a doctor, so she had to be smart. She liked hockey and b
eer, and thought I was funny. I still didn’t know her first name. Eventually I’ll find out. A definite option, if she was even interested in me. I didn’t see a wedding or engagement ring on her finger so she very well could be available.

  The last woman I came to was Diane. She was smart, sexy and had a sharp sense of humor. Her only drawback was her political affiliation. I could try to get by that and she had already invited me out to dinner; no it had actually been more of a demand. Demanding women were sometimes a good thing, especially when they demanded you sleep with them.

  I found the card she’d given me with her address and looked it over. Maybe it wouldn’t be too much of a distraction and I had to start moving on. Saturday at seven was looking more and more like it would happen. I had a couple of days to make my decision.

  The next morning I wanted to go to the gym but my ribs were still too sore. Instead I decided to go for a run to at least get some exercise. The trees in my neighborhood were still about a week or so from peaking to their autumn brilliance yet reminding me I needed to go buy a leaf blower and some bags for my yard. Add that to my long list of things I’ll soon forget.

  When I got back to my house the phone rang. It was Tony.

  “Hey, you ugly greaseball bastard.”

  “Tony, what are you doing up this early?”

  “I got to go do some shit for Uncle Sal. I got your message last night. That is not good news my friend. I don’t like fucking around with cops of any kind.”

  “That’s not a surprise in your line of work.”

  “Yeah, no shit. You know what department?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You let me know when you find out.”

  “I will.”

  “Hey, when you going to stop fucking around with Mary Palm and her Five Sisters and let me hook you up?”

  “But she says she loves me.”

  “Yeah, whatever, idiot. Nicole was asking for you. She and a couple of her friends are ready to party.”

  “You more concerned with me getting laid or staying alive?”

  “Tough question. I gotta go, goombah. Call me when you know something.”

  With that he hung up. My run had relieved some of the tension I was feeling but if it kept up, I just might have had to take him up on his offer to party with Nicole. If anything, just to shut him up.