A Bullet for Carlos
Page 1
BLOOD FLOWS SOUTH: BOOK 1
A BULLET
FOR CARLOS
Giacomo Giammatteo
INFERNO PUBLISHING COMPANY
© Copyright 2012 Giacomo Giammatteo
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
INFERNO PUBLISHING COMPANY
For more information about this book, visit
www.giacomogiammatteo.com
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Print ISBN 978-0-9850302-4-7
Electronic ISBN 978-0-9850302-3-0
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events herein are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A note to readers:
I write these stories with one thought in mind—what makes for the best read. Most of my stories are told in a combination of third person and first person point of view. You will notice the bullet image when it is first person and the gun image when it is third person. If a change in POV occurs within the same chapter, you will notice a series of three asterisks, like this: ***
I bring this up because a few people got confused in the last book. I hope you don’t find this a distraction, as I believe telling the stories this way makes for a better reading experience.
Thanks, and I hope you enjoy the book.
Giacomo
La famiglia è tutto
Family is everything
– Dominic Mangini
Chapter 1
A Present for Maria
Brooklyn, New York—Winter 1982
Zeppe Mangini paced the busy sidewalk while nursing a cappuccino. He felt it was a sure sign that the world was falling apart when people sold cappuccino in paper cups, but he sipped the drink to draw warmth and to make himself appear busy. Every few steps he glanced across the street to the apartment at 1255. Tommy Nunzio had lived there since he was a kid. Tonight he would die there.
Zeppe finished his cappuccino, waited for a break in traffic, then half-walked, half-jogged across the street. The horn from a souped-up Camaro blared as he reached the sidewalk. He tugged on his cap, covering a full head of coal-black hair, then nodded to his brother, Dominic, standing by the front steps.
“Dom, you sure there’s no other way to do this?”
“This is the cleanest. He’ll buzz you in.”
Zeppe paused, scrunched his face up a little. “Yeah, but that ain’t right. I’m—”
“Do it.”
Zeppe hit the buzzer, fidgeting as he waited for Tommy to answer. The last time his finger hit this button it was to ask Tommy out for a beer. Now…
“Who is it?”
“Tommy, it’s Zep. Open up.”
They walked into the building and climbed the stairs to the third floor. Zeppe cringed with each groan of the old wood, bringing back images of him and Tommy as little kids, and Mrs. Nunzio hollering at them, warning them about playing on steps. Zeppe took a few seconds to catch his breath, and to calm the rotten feeling he had in his gut, but he couldn’t chase away the image of Mrs. Nunzio. As he reached the top of the third floor, he half expected to be greeted by the sweet aroma of garlic coming from her kitchen.
His face scrunched again, a nervous tic he had since he was kid. “Dom, can’t we buy him a little time?”
“Not on this one,” Dominic said, and stood to the side.
Zeppe knocked on the door, hands shaking more than his stomach ached. After a few seconds the door opened. Dominic moved fast, pushing Zeppe aside while he shoved his gun into Tommy’s stomach. “Keep your voice down.”
Tommy backed up, hands in the air. “What’s going on? What—” His look shifted from Dominic to Zeppe, then back again. He froze, his eyes growing large. “Zeppe, what’s this about?”
Zeppe closed the door with the heel of his foot, never taking his eyes from Tommy. “You shouldn’t have crossed Vito.”
“That’s enough,” Dominic said.
Tommy cocked his head toward Zeppe, lifting his eyes in a pleading gesture. “Zep, can you help me out?” His voice cracked when he asked.
Dominic raised the gun to Tommy’s head and pulled the trigger. Twice. The small caliber bullets bounced around inside his skull, dropping him to the floor. There was little pain. Even less blood.
Dominic knelt beside him, checked his neck and pulse. The two in the head had done the trick.
“Let’s go,” Zeppe said, but as he reached for the doorknob a noise from the bedroom alerted him. “You hear that?”
Zeppe and Dominic stopped. Listened. A fan hummed in the bathroom and the ever-present noise of the fridge came from the kitchen, but something different from the bedroom. “Turn off the lights,” Dominic said, then crept toward the back room, gun drawn. “I’ll go in low. Hit the light once I’m in.”
Dominic crouched, pushed open the bedroom door and crept forward, his gun leading the way.
Zeppe waited for him to get in, then hit the light. “Mother of God! A goddamn baby.”
Dominic glanced about the room, barely big enough to hold the crib, a rocker, and a small chest of drawers. The baby fussed, tiny hands covering its eyes. Dominic picked the baby up, pried open the diaper, then lay the baby on his shoulder. “It’s a girl. Can’t be more than a few months old.”
Zeppe still had his gun out. “I’ll check the rest of the place.”
He returned in a few minutes, gun tucked into his pants. “Place is clean,” he said. “So what do we do?”
“Call Vito, but use the phone booth. I’ll wait here.”
Zeppe thought about the baby all the way down the stairs. Vito would be pissed; they should have known beforehand. He exited the building, crossed the street and called Vito.
“Hello.”
“Yeah, it’s me. We got a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
A long pause, then, “We delivered the message, but we found something unexpected.”
“Don’t make me guess.”
“A baby.”
“How did we not know about a baby?”
“I don’t know. I never heard of no baby, but sure as shit it’s his. Got pictures everywhere, baby clothes, baby food in the fridge and cabinets. A room fixed up.”
Zeppe waited through more silence.
“Leave it.”
“Leave it? Christ’s sake, boss. It could die.”
“Leave it.”
“Okay, you got it,” Zeppe said, and put the phone back on the receiver. Ain’t no way Dominic is leaving that baby.
Head hung low, Zeppe walked back across the street, up the steps, and into the apartment where Dominic waited with the girl. “Vito said leave it.”
Dominic was a small man, but intensity always surrounded him, an aura of danger that even Zeppe wasn’t immune to. He had seen men far bigger than his brother back down after meeting his glare.
“I’m not leaving her,” Dominic said, and he held the girl a little tighter. “Do you know Tommy’s wife? Where is she?”
“I don’t know, Dom. I heard she left him a few months ago, but I didn’t know about the baby. I swear. I wouldn’t have done this if I knew.” Shouldn’t have done it anyway. Goddamnit.
“Did Tommy have family? Brothers or sisters?”
> “His brother died last year. Remember?” Zeppe paused. “There might be relatives, but none I know of.” There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of Dominic leaving that baby alone, or with child services. Regardless, Zeppe felt he had to try. “Child services would—”
“I wouldn’t leave a dog with them.”
“Dom, I know how you feel, but—”
“Take her with us.”
“Are you nuts?”
“We shouldn’t be in this situation, Zeppe. It was your job to check this out.” Dominic shook his head then handed the girl to Zeppe. “It’s cold outside. Make sure she’s warm.”
“Okay,” Zeppe said, “whatever you want.” He took the baby from Dominic, and held her close.
“I’ll wipe everything clean.” Dominic looked around, checked where they’d been, then went to the bedroom and got extra clothes, a blanket, diapers, bottles. When he returned, he handed everything to Zeppe, cracked the door and looked down the hall. “Wrap her tight. I don’t want that baby catching cold.”
Zeppe wrapped the blanket around her, making sure to cover her head. “What the hell are we going to do with a baby?” He said it to himself, but Dominic answered.
“Taking her to Maria.”
Zeppe’s head was shaking as soon as Dominic finished. “Dom, you’re my older brother, but you’re as nuts as Maria.”
Dominic turned to face Zeppe. “If you ever say that about Maria again, I’ll kill you.”
They walked to the car in silence. Zeppe handed the baby to Dominic then got behind the wheel to drive. “Where to?”
“First the warehouse, then to Maria’s.”
Dominic stared at the baby as Zeppe drove, letting his finger trace along her forehead. “She’s quiet for one so young,” he said, no trace of the vehemence that tainted his voice earlier.
“Yeah, I guess she likes you.”
“And look at those eyes. Such big brown eyes.”
“Beautiful,” Zeppe said, but he never took his eyes from the road.
When the little girl smiled, Dominic smiled with her, but soon afterward turned somber. He thought of the fate Maria suffered because of him. If anyone should have had children it was her, but she refused to marry Dominic because of what he was, and she refused to marry anyone else. He saw the pain when she sat at the playground and watched the children play. Pain she didn’t deserve. Perhaps this was God’s answer to his prayers.
There would be birth certificate issues and people to pay off…but that could be arranged. The bigger problem was getting Maria to accept the baby and then making sure no one ever told the truth. That was the difficult one. Truth had a way of creeping through cracks and oozing to the top, no matter how deep it was buried. He knew he could trust Zeppe, and he could trust Maria…but something in his gut ate at him. This would take careful planning.
Zeppe pulled up to a warehouse. Dominic got rid of the gun and changed clothes. Half an hour later he turned down the street to Maria’s house.
“Turn the corner and park on the street after hers,” Dominic said. “We’ll walk.”
“Dom, it’s cold, and that baby—”
“The baby will be fine in the blanket. I’d rather not be seen on Maria’s street.”
After Zeppe parked, Dominic checked to make sure no one was watching then signaled Zeppe to bring the baby. They walked around the corner and up to Maria’s house.
A few knocks brought Maria to the door, surprise registering on her face when she saw them. “What are you doing here?” Her voice not much above a whisper.
Maria was the same as always—as plain as her tawny hair and as quiet as a church at night. “Came to see my beautiful friend,” Dominic said, and removed his cap.
She brushed her fingers through the sides of her hair. “Beautiful? I’m already graying.”
Dominic hugged her and kissed her forehead. “I love that gray,” he said, then nodded to Zeppe, who handed the baby to Maria.
She went wide-eyed. “Whose baby is this?” She held the girl against her and peeled the blanket back one layer at a time. “She’s so small. Where’s the mother?”
Dominic brushed the baby’s red cheeks with his finger, and nudged her head with his nose, sniffing in her scent. For the second time tonight a smile lit his face. “Babies are so innocent. You can even smell it on them.”
Maria walked through the house, humming a tune while she rocked the baby in her arms. “You didn’t answer me, Dominic. Who does she belong to? Some woman friend of yours?”
“I’m surprised at you for saying such a thing, Maria.” Westminster chimes were signaling the half-hour. Dominic waited for them to stop; they were Maria’s favorite. “We found her on the street corner. She was in a stroller, freezing.”
Maria looked at him, perhaps trying to judge the truth. “I’m sorry, Dominic, it’s just…I thought…” She shook her head and continued walking. “Who would do that to a baby?” She kissed the girl’s head several times. “Poor baby,” she said, then turned to Dominic. “What can we do with her? Did you call those…services people?”
“You know I would never do that; besides, you always wanted a child. Now God has sent you one.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t keep her.” Maria made the statement, blessed herself when she said it, but a plea rode on her words.
“You must keep her. God has given you a gift. Someone who didn’t care abandoned her, now someone who does care will raise her.”
Maria stared at Dominic for a long time, then she hugged the baby as tears formed in her eyes. “There is no way I can keep her, but I will watch her for a while.” She walked with her for a few moments, then said, “In the meantime, I’ll call her Concetta.”
Dominic nodded, a smile on his face. Maria would never let go of that baby. “Concetta Gianelli. A good name.”
“I told you, Dominic, I can’t keep her. What would the neighbors say? They will—”
Zeppe shook his head. “Tell them a relative died. Trust me, they won’t say anything.” He leaned over and kissed Maria on the cheek, then kissed the baby. “I promise you.”
Dominic looked at Maria, then Zeppe. “If Maria keeps Concetta, no one is to know where she came from. Understand? No one.”
“Don’t worry,” Zeppe said. “Just the three of us.”
Maria nodded, clutching the girl as if someone might take her. “Yes, just the three of us.”
Zeppe turned and headed for the door. “I’ll wait outside.”
“Good night, Giuseppe.”
“Yeah, good night, Maria.”
As the door closed behind Zeppe, and Maria walked to the kitchen, Dominic made the sign of the cross, asking God for forgiveness. It was one thing to kill a man—but to take his baby and claim it as a gift from God might be pushing things too far. That was the kind of thing that could haunt a person in both lives. And what will Maria do if she finds out the truth? Even worse, what will this little girl do if she finds out?
Chapter 2
Help From Strange Places
30 years later—Brooklyn, New York
The alarm went off on my iPhone, warning me of a meeting about to begin. I glanced at the framed newspaper article hanging on the wall above my desk; the headlines still embarrassed me:
“Brooklyn’s Toughest Cop—Connie Gianelli.”
The article referenced a bust where I fought it out with three gang members and took them all down, without shooting them. That fifteen minutes of fame cost me more grief than anything since I’d been in the department. After that story ran, I had to prove myself with every cop I met.
I set my earrings on my messy desk, took a deep breath, then started down the hall, my hands trembling. How’s that for a tough cop? We planned a big drug bust tonight and I was scared. Not of being hurt—always a possibility—but of who might be involved.
I saw Rafferty entering the conference room down the hall. I forced my hand to be steady, waved to him, then ducked into the bathroom.
I knew Dominic wouldn’t be there himself, but I was scared to death his men might be, and the last thing I needed was more suspicion haunting me at the station. I turned the water on, scrubbed my hands, splashed water on my face, and the whole time fought to keep my knees from buckling. Images of the headlines in tomorrow’s paper flashed in my mind like a strobe light, and in every one of them Dominic Mangini’s name was prominent. If that happened, I’d get fifteen minutes of a different kind of fame.
Why did I choose narcotics?
A knock on the door startled me.
“Let’s go, Gianelli. We’re waiting on you.”
“I’m coming, Sean. We don’t have it as easy as you guys. Can’t just whip something out and cut loose.”
“You sure about that?” he said, and laughed like hell.
“Shut up or I’ll tell Debbie you’re always staring at my ass.”
There was a joke in the department about me being more guy than girl because of my deep voice. My voice was deep, deeper than most guys, but the guy/girl confusion stopped there. I did have a nice ass.
I grabbed a few paper towels, wiped my face, twisted them around my hands, and tossed them in the trash. Let’s get it done, Gianelli.
I exited the ladies’ room, turned right, and took long confident strides toward the meeting. We had been planning this bust all week, and this was just a wrap-up session. Four steps away, I thought I heard them whispering, and wondered if it was about me. I planted a smile on my face and walked in.
“Okay guys, I’m here. Now we can wrap this up.” I said that with all the confidence I could muster, but I wasn’t comfortable with the plan.
Jerry Rafferty sat at the end of the table, Lieutenant Chambers at the opposite end. Four chairs stretched down each side.
“About time you got here, Gianelli. Had to fix your hair?” Rafferty said it with his usual taunting smile. More a smirk than a smile. It made me want to kick his ass; instead, I narrowed my eyes and smiled back. Maybe I glared. He got the point.