“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you have Tip Denton behind you, writing down what you should say.”
Julie laughed. “What’s up, Ribs?”
“See if you can find anyone who goes by the name, El Terrible. Check locally, but also check the FBI and even internationally, especially Mexico.”
“What have you got?”
“Probably nothing, but we have a guy in the hospital who came in mumbling something about El Terrible. I don’t even know if it’s a person, but it’s worth checking out.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“Thanks.”
Delgado and Cruz got coffee, then went to the waiting room and settled in. Cruz played video games on his phone while Ribs kicked his feet up on the chair beside him and tried to catch a nap. “Wake me if Martin’s lawyer gets here,” he said.
Two hours later, Delgado’s phone rang. It was Julie. “You find something?”
“I hope you and Cruz are carrying a lot of ammo and wearing vests.”
Ribs perked up. “Tell me.”
“I found your friend El Terrible. He’s a hit man from Mexico, and from the reports I’ve seen so far, he’s responsible for a lot of bodies. No reports of him working on this side of the border, though.”
“Did you get anything solid on him? Name, pictures, description?”
“Nothing. Whoever this guy is, he’s invisible. No one has ever seen him. Not even a glimpse.”
“Shit! Gather whatever you can find. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”
“It’ll be waiting for you on my desk.”
Ribs filled Cruz in on what Julie said, then stood and started toward ICU. “Let’s go, Cruz. We need to see if we can get Señor Martin to talk.”
A doctor was just leaving when Ribs and Cruz arrived. He showed his badge. “How’s he doing?” Ribs asked.
“Good improvement. He’ll be hurting for a long time, but he should recover without major problems.”
“Thanks,” Ribs said, and they went into the room beside Martin’s bed.
“Hey, Martin,” Cruz said. “Your lawyer get here yet?”
“Who’s El Terrible?” Ribs asked.
Martin’s eyes opened wide. “I said I want a lawyer.”
“I know that. And we’re not asking you anything about the crime. I just want to know who he is. Did he do this to you?”
Martin’s face cracked into a smile. “If I had met the person you speak of, I’d be dead. If I knew who he was, I’d be dead. If I say his name, I’ll be dead. Get me a lawyer.”
“Whoever did this to you isn’t through. You know that, don’t you?”
“You can leave, detectives. I’m not talking.”
Ribs shook his head. “Come on, Cruz. We’re talking to a dead man.”
Chapter 7
Another Goodbye
Brooklyn, New York
Tip’s call convinced me that I was heading back to Texas, and I didn’t even know why. I had no family there. No friends, except Tip. And the last time I was in Texas, I’d damn near been killed.
Part of me was afraid to go back. Almost as if Texas had been the one that hurt me. I sighed.
It wasn’t Texas that raped me, and I had to face that fact sooner than later. Uncle Dominic’s lessons always mentioned facing your fears. This fear was a big one for me, and I felt certain that this was why he wanted me to go back. He knew that if I was ever to go back to being the old me, I’d have to scrape myself off the streets of Laredo, or in this case, Houston.
There were good things about Texas, too. No one there whispered that I was dirty because of my association with Uncle Dominic. No one questioned my loyalty to the department. On one hand, I didn’t want to leave Brooklyn, but ever since the shooting in the alley—and my miraculous rescue by Dominic’s friend, Manny—the whispers in the department had grown stronger than ever. Even after the “hero cop,” Frankie Donovan, cleared my name.
It wasn’t like I didn’t appreciate Dominic’s protection. I did, but I couldn’t take it. The whole mess was yet another reason why I couldn’t consult a shrink. How the hell could any shrink understand what I was going through? I was a damn cop who’d been raised by a mob boss.
I put on my jogging suit, grabbed my iPod and headphones, and headed to the park for a quick run. Running was my therapy. Sometimes I ran to relieve stress or get rid of anxiety about Uncle Dominic. Other times, like today, it was to clear my mind and help me think.
It didn’t take more than a mile to confirm my feelings about going back, and once that was done, I began making lists of things I had to do. Make arrangements for the apartment. Write Bon Jovi another letter. Yes, another letter; I wrote him once when I was a teenager. He probably had that letter tucked in the top drawer of his dresser, next to his underwear, waiting for his wife to leave him. I let that fantasy play out in my mind for about a mile, and then I returned to reality and headed for home. I had work to do.
I went to say goodbye to Uncle Dominic and Zeppe, which was more painful than I thought it would be, and more difficult. The closer it got to my leaving, the more I realized that I was afraid to go back. I kept picturing the scenes leading up to the rape, wondering how I’d let it happen. Worst of all, I started seeing images of the lunatic who raped me flash through my mind.
Dominic assured me that I needed to go, but I could tell that he was worried too. He asked far too many questions—where I’d be staying, who I’d be partnered with, and what kind of neighborhood I’d be living in. I told him that Houston was different from New York, but he didn’t understand. He had lived here since he was a young boy; it was all he knew.
That night I arranged for Tariq and Marley to sublet my place. It was far better than the apartment they had, and I gave them a great deal on the rent. Besides, Tariq would take care of the fish, which solved another problem. I intended to leave Hotshot with Tariq but at the last minute I decided to take the cat. As big as Texas was, it had room for a three-legged cat.
Before going to bed, I packed a couple of suitcases, made yet another list for Tariq on how to feed the fish, and then called Tip to remind him what time to pick me up. He reminded me of how warm it still was down there—in the seventies—so I shoved a few more summer clothes in my least-packed suitcase. I finally crawled into bed at one o’clock.
***
I was waiting outside of the baggage claim area when Tip’s SUV pulled up. He got out and gave me a big squeeze, damn near crushing me. Crazy Texan had no gentle side.
“Good to see you, partner,” he said.
“Same here,” I said. “You find a place for me to stay?”
“I did, and it’s nicer than what you had before, except it’s not free.”
“I didn’t expect free. I’m just glad you found something, because I brought my cat.” I pointed to the carrier next to my bags. “Hotshot’s his name.”
Tip smiled. “I like that. It means you’re planning on staying.” He grabbed my bags and tossed them in the back of his car. “Put the cat in the back seat.”
I climbed in and we headed out. “Where to?”
“To drop off your bags and the cat, and then we’ll get you set up at the station.”
“I need to rent a car.”
“No need. You impressed John last time you were here. He not only approved your duty, he got you a car.”
“I assume you mean John Renkin, new Chief of Police, the one who was our boss?”
“Yes, smartass, that John Renkin, but that’s a few too many names for me. I just call him John.”
A warm feeling rushed through my veins and put a smile on my face. It was good to be back in Texas.
The “apartment” turned out to be a house that a friend of Tip’s owned. The previous renters had moved out a few weeks before. It was a lot like Julie’s house—a three-bedroom ranch with a fenced-in yard, and it sat near the front of a nice neighborhood with quick access to the main road. And all of this for less than half of what I was paying in Brook
lyn.
It took us a couple of hours to get me settled—at least with the basics—and then we were back on the freeway, heading downtown.
“Do we have anything to work on?” I asked.
“We’ve got that brutal case I told you about.”
“The one that looks like a heart attack?”
Tip laughed. “That’s the one. All we have to do now is find that serial-killer prostitute. At least until something better turns up. We’ll check you in first, though. And introduce you to Captain Cooper and the rest of the crew.”
“I heard Julie’s with you.”
“Fat Charlie, too. John brought us all over.”
We arrived at the station in record time, even with Tip driving.
“This is a lot bigger,” I said when he pulled up to the station.
“It’s a whole lot bigger,” Tip said. “I think we have sixty or seventy people in homicide.”
As we walked into the station, I got the jitters. The building reminded me of Brooklyn, and anytime I thought of that, I expected someone to question my loyalty to the badge, all because of Uncle Dominic. I shook my head. I had to get all of that out of my mind. This was Texas. Half the damn people here didn’t know what the Mafia was unless they’d watched the Sopranos.
As I climbed the stairs, a familiar voice greeted me. “Connie! So good to see you.”
I looked up to see Julie. She was the same as when I left—a purple stripe in her hair and iridescent nails. I half expected to hear “Mr. Tambourine Man” playing in the background.
I took the rest of the stairs two at a time and gave her a big hug. “It’s great to see you. How are the kids?”
She stepped back and smiled. “They’re fine. The question is how are you?”
“Now that I’m back in Texas, I’m doing great.”
A voice behind me said, “You got any hugs for a fat man?”
I turned to see Fat Charlie, who wasn’t fat anymore. “I would hug you, but nothing’s there. Good God, you look great.”
“Yeah, he went and screwed things up,” Tip said. “Now we can’t call him Fat Charlie.”
I hugged Charlie. “I missed you guys. It’s good to be back.”
Tip grabbed my arm. “Come on. You can catch up later; we’ve got to see the sweetheart.”
“I assume you mean the captain?”
“None other,” Tip said.
He introduced me to Cindy, who escorted us into the captain’s office. Captain Cooper was behind her desk. She was short and thick, like the stump of an old oak.
“Captain Cooper, this is my partner, Connie Gianelli.”
Coop stood and reached to shake hands. “Now I see why Tip’s been whining and crying to get you down here. You’re gorgeous.”
“I should let you know, Connie, that the captain’s first name is Gladys.”
Coop smiled. “Pay no attention to him. That’s just his pitiful attempt to shut me up.”
“He does have a way of getting under a person’s skin,” I said.
“That he does,” Coop said. “Did you get in today?”
“A few hours ago.”
“And you’re ready to go already?”
“As soon as I get the paperwork done, Captain. I’ve been sitting still for too long.”
Tip got up, fidgeting. “I’ve been sitting still too long myself. We better get going.”
Coop shot him a look. “Give us a minute, Tip.”
“What, you gonna tell her lies about me?”
“I couldn’t make up anything worse than the truth. Now get out of here and give us a minute.”
When the door closed, Coop looked at me with a fake smile. “I know you’re a professional. And I’ve heard nothing but good reports from Tip and the Chief, who pushed hard to get you down here.”
I nodded, waiting for the “but” that I knew was coming.
“But I’m responsible for you now, and I need to know if you’re ready.”
“I’m ready, Captain. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“It’s my job to worry. I won’t pretend I know what you went through or how you feel, but I do know it has to hurt. And it’s got to bother you.” Coop reached up and removed her glasses. She set them on a stack of papers to her left. “Did you see a shrink?”
“I received plenty of counseling, if that’s what you mean.”
She opened a folder and flipped through pages until she found what she wanted. “Not according to your lieutenant. He said you went twice, and, according to the psychologist, ‘Neither visit was productive.’” Coop leaned forward a little and squinted. “Seeing a psychologist twice may be good for some things, but it usually doesn’t fix the problems that come with being beaten half to death and raped.”
I looked off to the left. A picture of an old hardware store in a small town hung on the wall next to a portrait of an older couple. Enough resemblance in the woman made me believe it was Coop’s mother. I looked around some more. The captain was waiting for my answer, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to start off this relationship with a lie, but couldn’t tell her that my real counseling consisted of extended talks with my Uncle Dominic, head of one of New York’s Five Families.
I took a deep breath and looked at her squarely. “I opted for private counseling instead of the department shrink. We didn’t click.” There. I’d done it, and hadn’t lied. Uncle Dominic could certainly be considered to be “private counseling.”
Coop squinted tighter. “Private counseling?”
“Yes.”
She leafed through the papers in the folder again. “I don’t see any insurance reports. Did you pay for this yourself?”
“It was more like family counseling.”
One of her eyebrows rose, and she went back to that damn folder. After scanning half a dozen papers, she leaned back in the chair. “I don’t see a mention of any living relatives.”
Here we go.
I didn’t know how much was in that folder, or how much Lieutenant Morreau had told her about my past. She could have everything in there. The dossier on Uncle Dominic, complete with his picture, maybe even one of him holding me as a little girl. I’d seen that one in the shrink’s file. The only thing I knew for sure was that I couldn’t start this relationship off with a lie. That wouldn’t work. I closed my eyes, lifted my head, and wished I had stayed in Brooklyn with the fish. I’d tried the “almost a lie” cover up, and it hadn’t worked.
I gathered my thoughts and tried to spit it all out in one breath. “I have no living relatives, but the guy who raised me after my mother died is Dominic Mangini. He’s known by a lot of aliases too, but the bottom line is that he heads up one of the Five Families in New York.”
Coop’s eyes grew wide and big. “Why is it always me?” she mumbled. She fiddled with a pencil, twisting it in her hands and staring at it. Then she slid her top drawer open and dropped it in. “And you think getting advice from a mobster is better than therapy with a psychologist?”
I suddenly wished I had asked Tip a lot more about Captain Cooper. What kind of person she was. What answers she would expect. Since I didn’t have that information, I opted for the truth. Again.
“I know that when I talk with him, he makes sense. He makes me feel better about myself. And I know that shrink and I didn’t click.” I leaned back and shook my head. “Besides, what the hell does a doctor from the Upper East Side know about getting raped?” I crossed my legs and sneered. “If you don’t count the silver spoon that’s been stuck up his ass all his life.”
Coop burst into laughter. She tried to stop twice, and after a few seconds, finally succeeded. She looked at me with warmth in her eyes. “Tell me, Connie, what would your uncle say? Are you ready to be back on the job?”
I smiled back. “He’s the one who told me to come back to Texas.”
Cooper walked out from behind her desk and extended her hand. “That’s good enough for me. But you have to promise me that you’ll take care of
your troublemaking partner.”
I cocked my head to the left and gave her a crooked smile. “The Tipster? He’s a big pussycat.”
“I know he is,” Coop said, “but someone needs to remind him of that. Daily.”
“Count on it,” I said.
“I will.” Coop patted me on the shoulder. “See Cindy to get all your paperwork. There are more forms to sign than a medical-release statement.”
“Captain? Thanks for…”
Coop shook her head. “No thanks necessary. I like the truth. I can work through a lot of problems if I know the truth.”
***
Coop watched Connie walk down the hallway, waving to her as she turned the corner.
“She’s a sweetie,” Cindy said.
“She’ll be perfect as Denton’s partner,” Coop replied, and smiled.
She went back to her office, closing the door behind her. After she got situated at her desk, she opened the file for Connie Gianelli, picked up the phone, and dialed a number from her file.
“Brooklyn Homicide.”
“Lieutenant Morreau, please. This is Captain Gladys Cooper from the Houston Police Department.”
I need to find out how much she didn’t tell me.
Chapter 8
Looking for Tiffany
Twenty minutes after I left Coop’s office, Tip and I headed out. I told him we needed to stop for coffee, but he ignored me. “Next time I’m driving,” I said.
“You don’t like my driving?”
“You know I don’t, but even more importantly, I want to be the one in charge of when and where we get coffee.”
“We’ll get some at the hotel,” he said. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
I didn’t relish the thought of hotel coffee, but it was better than nothing, and I couldn’t crank up all cylinders until I had at least a few espressos. Tip could get by on hot tea, iced tea, or any kind of coffee. I’d even seen him substitute a Coke and be fine with it.
“You still think this is a case?” I asked.
“I don’t know. But we’ll act like it is unless Ben rules it a natural death.”
Bullet From Dominic Page 5
