“You should stop and say goodbye to the kids before you go,” Zeppe said.
“Of course I will. I planned on doing it on the way home.” I looked at the watch. “Speaking of which, I have to go. I still have things to do at home.” Tears welled in my eyes. “I’ll be back before you know it. Ciao, Zio Domenico. Zio Zeppe.” I hugged them, then headed for the steps.
***
Zeppe spread open the blinds and watched, waiting for her to come out of Gallo’s house. “You shouldn’t have lied, Dom.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Zeppe walked the few steps across the room and sat on the couch. “I’m tired of all of it. I should have quit that first night.”
Dominic nodded. “Maybe you should become a priest. Someone needs to keep Maria and Mamma company in heaven.”
Zeppe broke into a fit of laughter. “They ain’t letting me in.”
Dominic wasn’t laughing. “I’m serious. Not about the priest, but you should quit, do your penance.” He paused for a few seconds. “Perhaps in time…if you believe what the priests say.”
“Dom, I don’t want to—”
Dominic wagged a finger at him. “Sh. Please. Let me have my fantasies. I need to believe that you can be saved, Giuseppe. In caso contrario, esso è stato per niente tutti i.”
“Jesus Christ, Dom, talk English. We’ve been in this country forever. Besides, it wasn’t for nothin’. Ain’t no way it was for nothin.’”
Dominic grabbed the cups and went to get more espresso. “I would have given anything to be like you.”
“What? A coward.”
Dominic shook his head. “It doesn’t take a brave man to pull a trigger. Brave men are the ones who work all day then come home to take care of a family.” He lowered his head, staring at the cup of espresso. “What have I done except kill people?”
“I know what you should have done—married Maria.”
“She wouldn’t have me.”
“You could have quit.”
Dominic shook his head as he got more olive oil. “You were always so gullible. People never quit on Vito.”
“Then you should have married someone else.”
Dominic seemed lost, staring into nothing. “I had Maria.”
“As a neighbor.”
“As a friend,” Dominic said. “And now I have Concetta.”
“Not if she finds out what you did.” Zeppe paused. “That brings up the question. When are you gonna tell her?”
“Never! And don’t get soft on me and say something. If you ever tell her, I swear I’ll kill you.”
“Okay, Dom. Okay.” Zeppe sipped his espresso and nibbled on a piece of cheese. “But I’m telling you, if she finds out herself, she’ll hate you.”
“She’s hated me before.” Dominic swirled his cup and stared at Zeppe.
“That was over little stuff. If she finds out you killed her father she’ll hate you like never before.”
Dominic slammed his fist on the table. “Basta! I don’t want to hear about it.” He took a moment to settle down, then he stared into Zeppe’s eyes. “What are we going to do about this Mexican? We can’t let him try for Concetta again.”
“We got no juice in Houston.”
Dominic sat in silence. “Get Fabrizio. Tell him I want to spread the word that anyone with information on these…these…animali, will be rewarded.”
After lighting his pipe, Dominic thought some more. “And let them know they will be protected. If they need a new family, we will welcome them.”
“Dominic, Jesus Christ—”
Dominic held up his hand. “And I want to call in all favors. We need friends in Houston. Let it be known that the enemies of this animal will be welcomed as friends.”
Zeppe wiped his mouth and stood. He’d seen Dominic in this mode before. With Connie in trouble, nothing would stop him. “Whatever you say, Dom.”
Chapter 15
Houston
My flight took off on time and, according to the schedule, I’d be in Texas in about four hours. I never slept on planes; it was too much fun to watch people, so I leaned back as far as the seat allowed, and looked for interesting subjects.
A couple across the aisle from me, who looked to be in their twenties, had spent the last half hour pawing each other and laughing too loud. I don’t know if I was pissed off or envious. They reminded me that I was still single—very single—and with no prospects. Ten years from now I’d probably be in the same boat I was now.
Thinking of forty made me think about my miserable—make that nonexistent—sex life. For a long time I blamed Dominic. Growing up I had few friends and even fewer boyfriends. It wasn’t until later I found out that the boys were afraid of Dominic. When I went to college I got wild for a few years, but my first broken heart fixed that. Now sex consisted of rubbing myself and dreaming of the good ones, but those I could count on one hand—without using my thumb. Or my pinkie. Or…
A bag of pretzels and a few drinks later, the pilot announced we were about to land in Houston, and that the temperature was 71 degrees. I’d left New York with slush piled in the streets, cars covered in salt and dirt, and people wrapped in coats, hats, and gloves—71 sounded great.
A jolt of excitement ran through me as I thought of what I’d do regarding the drug case. My mind raced. I tried shifting thoughts to the Mason case but it didn’t keep me focused. I couldn’t possibly imagine how anyone could do what that person did to another human being. And during the times I wasn’t thinking about one of those cases, my mind wandered to what Uncle Dominic told me about my father—died a drug addict. It made me wonder what my father was really like. And what drove him to drugs.
This line of thinking brought back images of Mom and the stroke she had. What a horrible end to a vibrant life—six years of near complete paralysis. I shivered, recalling the day I found her at the bottom of the steps. The doctors gave her no hope and recommended putting her in a home. Dominic would hear nothing of it. He hired a nurse to care for Mom’s special needs, but Dominic did most of the work himself. It was a special lesson in love. One I never forgot.
Within a few minutes we landed. It took me half an hour to get my bags, and my gun, then another forty minutes to get a rental. I opted for a convertible. Soon I was heading toward the city with the top down. Even at 71 degrees, it was chilly with the top down, but I loved it.
Wind blew a piece of dirt into my eye, and as I rubbed it out, I saw the Houston skyline rising up from the plains like something out of a science fiction novel. The whole city was pointed buildings and mirrored glass in strange geometric shapes, and it all shouted new and clean. It was a far cry from New York, where the skyline was far bigger but the buildings seemed stiff and old. After seeing Houston, I’d swear the buildings in New York had moss and ivy growing on them. I pulled out a pair of shades and fit them snugly on my nose.
A smile popped onto my face. Before long I would be working with some Texas cowboy cop, and on my way to clearing not only a cold case, but that drug case as well. That was the one vow I’d made on the way down here. I would not leave Texas without my name cleared.
Chapter 16
A Dangerous Insult
On Tuesday Mr. Perfect went to the park to jog. He knew she would be there. Keeping a slow pace, he waited until she was within view then kicked it up a notch. As he got closer he pushed it, smiling at her as he passed.
The next day at the gym he ignored her. Made sure he didn’t even make eye contact, though he felt her watching him. On Thursday, he again went to the park to jog. This time he slowed when he caught up to her. Matched her pace.
“Hello again,” he said, panting as he ran.
She smiled. “Hey.”
“Great day for running.”
She tilted her head toward a bench ahead, slowed to a walk, then plopped down, breathing hard. “You come here often?”
He stood, bent, with his hands resting on his thighs. “Whenever the weather’s nic
e.”
“Me too.” She waited for another jogger to pass, a girl half her age, then looked back to him. “I see you at the gym all the time. Have you been going there long?”
He laughed. “I think I opened the place.” After walking around for a moment he caught his breath.
She took him in with a glance. “The dedication shows.”
“Thanks,” he said, then, “I’ve got tickets for Brooks and Dunn tomorrow night at the Pavilion. Want to go?”
Her eyes lit up, but then she shook her head. “No thanks. But I appreciate the invite.”
“Why not? I thought you liked them?”
A funny look came to her. She seemed stunned. “How did you know I liked them?”
He realized he had made a mistake, but he recovered smoothly. “I saw you singing to one of their songs at the gym.”
She stood. Gulped. She looked freaked out, but she hid it well. “What time?” she asked, and then, “I don’t even know your name.”
Mr. Perfect paused, but only for a second. “Everybody calls me crazy, but I go by JR.”
She smiled, a fake one, and offered her hand. “Patti.”
“Nice to meet you, Patti. So I’ll see you at eight o’clock?”
“How about we meet at the Starbucks on Market Street? Say seven-thirty.”
“Great. See you then.” With that, he took off, heading back down the trail.
He dreamed of meeting her all night, and the next day went by in slow motion, the hours coated with molasses. Finally quitting time arrived and he raced home, changed clothes and hurried to the designated spot. Seven-thirty couldn’t come fast enough.
Mr. Perfect paced the sidewalk in front of Starbucks, sipping his latte. He couldn’t believe she was late. He didn’t tolerate tardiness. “Bitch will get hers.” He paced some more. Sipped more. Looked at his watch. Eight o’clock. The concert would be starting any minute, and it was a perfect night for an outdoor event. He looked around, walked back into Starbucks to see if she was there. Checked his cell phone. She didn’t have his number, though, so he didn’t know why he did that. He never gave out his cell number.
A few minutes later the first chords of music kicked off the opening act. He looked at his watch again, crushed the cup in his hands, and tossed it into the trash bin. “She will regret this.”
Mr. Perfect saw her at the gym on Monday. “What happened? You missed a great concert.” He made sure to smile, kept his eyes smiling too.
“Oh…damn. I forgot. I mean I didn’t have your number. An emergency came up and I couldn’t make it.” The fake smile came then. “Wish I could have made it.”
He frowned. “Sorry to hear about that. What kind of emergency?”
She stammered, the question taking her by surprise.
“My…uh…grandmother. She was rushed to the hospital.”
“My God. That’s terrible.” He put his hand on her arm. “Does she live nearby?”
“No. Beaumont. She lives in Beaumont.”
“You sure?”
“What?” Indignant now. “Of course I’m sure.”
“Just kidding. You seemed so nervous.” He smiled again. “Anyway. I’ve got to go. Hope your grandmother gets better. See you around.”
See you soon.
Mr. Perfect sat in the car, fuming. Not only had she embarrassed him, she lied. Time to teach Ms. Almost Perfect a lesson in humility. Time to teach Ms. Almost Perfect some manners.
He drove to her home, careful to park a few blocks away, but where he could still see her with his binoculars. Five minutes after she arrived he put his ear buds in, cranked up his iPod, grabbed his sport bag, checked to make sure the knife and tape were there, then walked toward her apartment. When he got closer he checked her window with the binoculars. She wasn’t in the kitchen and the bedroom door was closed. He had made a copy of her key from the rack at the gym weeks ago while she was working out, and he used that now to open the door and slip inside. The bedroom door was still closed, the shower running. A slight twinge in his right eye caused his head to cock sideways, then his dick throbbed and he reached down to straighten it. After putting gloves on, he put his ear to the bedroom door and listened. Heard the water still running. Turning the knob slowly, he let himself into the room, laid a small cotton cloth on the table, undressed, then pressed against the wall and waited.
A few minutes later the water stopped. She sang while she dried off. Mr. Perfect recognized the song—one from Brooks and Dunn, the same group she stood him up on.
Biggest mistake of her life.
She came into the bedroom, singing, and naked. As she passed by him, he grabbed her, clamped his hand over her mouth and yanked her back. Then he pressed a knife to her throat.
“Sh. Don’t scream. Don’t even talk.”
Ms. Almost Perfect nodded. Her body tensed.
“I’m going to take my hand away. If you make a noise I will kill you. Understand?”
Again she nodded.
He took his hand away, grabbed the cloth and stuffed it in her mouth. Then he covered her mouth with tape. “You can turn around now.”
Slowly, she turned. Her eyes went wide when she saw him standing there. Naked. She shook her head vigorously. Stepped back. Reached for the tape.
Mr. Perfect hit her hard. She fell back, stumbled into a chair. He yanked her up, threw her onto the bed.
Her nose bled and she sobbed, but she lay still. Frightened, like a baby animal. He’d seen enough of those to know. He remembered cutting snakes and pouring salt in the wounds, then he’d watch them wiggle and squirm. He always wondered if they were crying. Several times he put his ears close to hear, but never could tell. It didn’t stop him from trying though.
Mr. Perfect stood above her, his dick stiff and ready. “You should have come to the concert.”
Her eyes bulged.
“I know you regret it now, but I’ll show you what you missed.”
He took hold of her ankles, dragged her to the edge of the bed and stood between her legs. He put on a condom, then spread her legs apart. She scooted back, kicked him in the balls then rolled off the bed. As soon as she hit the floor she scrambled up and ran for the door. Before she took two steps, he grabbed her hair and jerked her back. Some of the hair came out, bloody roots and all.
“Don’t try that again.”
She cried more.
Soon he was inside her. His eyes closed, and he smiled. “Have you changed your mind yet?”
She nodded, though the tears remained.
He stopped. Looked closer at her. “No. Not yet you haven’t, but you will.”
He continued, his thrusts more brutal. “Tell me how much you like it. Tell me how much you want me.”
She mumbled.
“Tell me I’m the best.”
More mumbling.
“Perfect, right? I am perfect, aren’t I?”
As he hammered away at her, thoughts of the other one popped into his head. Mr. Perfect gritted his teeth, clenched his fists. And then he pounded her. Her face. Her chest. Her stomach and ribs. As he punched her tits, he came, an explosion that left him exhausted.
He took a few seconds to breathe, then he checked her. She was still alive. Thank God.
Mr. Perfect got his knife from the table and returned to the bed. She was non-responsive, but he would wake her. The steel blade tickled her nose before coming to a rest at the top of her lip. Using his full weight he pressed down, slicing all the way through to the teeth. She tried getting up, eyes bulging and muscles taut. He twisted the blade to the left and again to the right, separating her top lip from her face. Blood went everywhere. Only the tape kept her lip from falling off.
With three more slices, he cut off the bottom lip too, then he removed the tape and put both of the pieces on the table next to his things. She convulsed on the bed, body heaving up and down. He stood above her. “You won’t be telling any more lies, will you?” He shook his head. “No, not with those lips you won’t.” He leaned
over her, delivered two stabs to the heart, finishing her, then began cleaning. He washed off using the kitchen sink, then cleaned out the drain and dumped food and then ice cubes in before turning on the garbage disposal. Before leaving he scrubbed everything with bleach to spoil random DNA.
The towel got packed into a sport bag, along with the things he brought. And her lips. He wiped everything down, put the clothes in the bag, then vacuumed. Carefully. Meticulously. He vacuumed the floor, under the bed, the bathroom, and everywhere he had been in the apartment. Then he vacuumed the girl, and under the girl. Afterwards, he dressed in the uniform of a repairman, placed the evidence in a large plastic garbage bag, and took both that and the vacuum with him.
Mr. Perfect put the ear buds and iPod on before opening the door, grabbed the sport bag, the vacuum, and the plastic garbage bag, then went to where his car was parked. He stopped at the dumpster of a restaurant by the mall on the way home, depositing the bags and the vacuum, and the lips. Only a sick person would keep things like that. When he got home he ran for half a mile, no more. Tomorrow was leg day and he didn’t want to be sore.
Chapter 17
Tip and Connie
I followed directions toward downtown, parked the convertible, and walked into the Harris County Sheriff’s Office. The day was warm, and there were plenty of people, but the city seemed empty compared to New York. Nerves made my stomach churn as I walked into the building and quickly sought out the desk sergeant. Desk sergeants seemed to be the same everywhere. This one was a big Irish-looking guy with a practiced smile.
“Afternoon, Sergeant. I’m here to see Lieutenant Renkin.”
He glanced at me, but that was about it. “He expecting you?” The question rolled off his tongue as if he had asked it a thousand times, and the way he continued writing on a report or a duty roster, convinced me all the more.
“Yes, he’s expecting me.” I offered my hand to shake. “Connie Gianelli—Brooklyn Homicide.”
“Brooklyn, as in New York?” He shook my hand quickly, but his eyes barely left his work.
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