A Bullet for Carlos

by Giacomo Giammatteo

  Treetop lifted an unusually long, thin hand and rubbed his chin. “This the one where White Connie got shot?”

  Frankie felt as if he had to tilt his head back to look up at Treetop. He had big white teeth and smoky eyes. He either injected them with smoke or he was permanently high; Frankie suspected the latter. “White Connie?”

  “Man, you know White Connie. Lives right here in our neighborhood. Sweeeeet thing.”

  “That’s her,” Frankie said. “They would’ve killed her, too, but Manny came to the rescue.”

  Treetop laughed his deep laugh again. “Treetop don’t think you know shit about Manny Rosso, or he be in jail.” His face grew serious. “But if this be about White Connie then I got information for you.”

  Treetop told them what he knew about a Mexican named Carlos, including information on where to find him in Houston.

  “How do you know this?” Frankie asked.

  “My sister, man. She be banging one of Carlos’ men. After all this shit went down, she left town and went to Houston. Told me I could get hold of her at this club.” He pulled a piece of paper from his wallet. “El Paradiso, in Houston.”

  “That it?”

  “All I got,” Treetop said.

  Before Treetop left, Frankie said, “One more thing. You said she left after all the shit went down. You mean the cops getting shot?”

  The way Treetop’s head shook from so high up it looked as if it might roll off. “No way, man. I mean after Carlos’ men started ending up dead, eyes cut out of their heads. Not just killing, but nasty crazy stuff.”

  “Thanks, Treetop. I owe you.” Frankie handed him a card. “You get in a jam, call me. I can’t help with anything hardcore, but a regular jam…I’ll see what I can do.”

  A big, white-toothed smile appeared on Treetop’s face. “Man, you be all right. Just like White Connie. You see her, tell her the Tree said hi.”

  “I will. See ya’.”

  Frankie and Lou got back in the car and headed toward the station. “What do you make of that?” Lou asked.

  “I think he was being straight. Seemed like it.”

  “I mean about the Mexicans being tortured.”

  “Haven’t taken time to think on that yet, Lou. But it needs thinking. Looks like we got us a drug war going on.”

  “Or worse,” Lou said. “Torture doesn’t sound like a drug war.”

  “Yeah. Or worse. And that doesn’t sound like Manny, if you know what I mean.”

  “I heard lots of stories about Mangini when he was coming up. Scary stories.” Lou lit a cigarette, despite Frankie’s protestations about smoking in the car. “People were so afraid of Mangini they’d leave the state if anyone even hinted he was after them.”

  Frankie turned left on Flatbush and got into the right lane. “We’ve got to get to the bottom of this before we have more bodies.”

  “Your call, Donovan. I’m just hanging out till retirement.”

  “How long you been using that line?”

  “Too long, but one of these days it’ll be true.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  As they drove back to the station, Frankie reached over and turned the radio off. “Lou, I’ve been thinking about those phone records. We know Connie is the one who called Mangini.”

  “Go on.”

  “If she’s dirty, why’d she tell us about the call?” Frankie let Lou think on it, then, “And if she’s clean, why wipe the phone?”

  Lou inhaled a mouthful of smoke and took his time blowing it out. “I don’t guess Gianelli would have taken the time to clear it while she shot all those drug dealers?”

  “I’ll go out on a limb and say no.”

  Lou scrunched up one eyebrow and looked at Frankie. “In other words, there was no reason for her to wipe the phone.”

  “Exactly,” Frankie said, “but somebody wanted it done, and I got a feeling it had nothing to do with Mangini. Whoever did it wanted it to seem that way, but they weren’t counting on Gianelli telling us the truth.”

  “But there was nothing incriminating on the phone log except the call to Mangini.”

  Frankie smiled. “Yeah.”

  Lou tossed his smoke out the window. “So what do you think was on there? What’s worse than a call to Dominic Mangini?”

  Frankie pulled into the parking lot at the station. “That’s what we gotta find out.”

  Lou nodded. “Guess it’s time we checked some phone records.”

  “And let’s keep this between us.”

  Frankie waited until nine o’clock, purposefully staying off the wine until he talked to Connie so that he had a clear head. From what Treetop had told him, she needed this information. He lit a cigarette, grabbed his cell and plopped on the couch, his notebook in hand. She answered on the second ring.

  “Gianelli.”

  “It’s Frankie Donovan.”

  A slight pause followed. “I didn’t expect to hear from you.”

  “Yeah, well, I got some things you should know.” Frankie sucked hard on the smoke, blew a few smoke rings. “You turn up anything on your case?”

  “I’m here on a murder case. I get caught working my case and I’m done.”

  “Yeah, I know. So tell me what you’ve got so far because I’m hitting a dead end, and no one seems interested in having me solve this.”

  Silence, then, “Dirty pricks.”

  “Exactly what I’m thinking, Gianelli. I got people using sticks and carrots on me. Sticks to tell me to quit what I’m doing and carrots to let me know I made the right choice.” Frankie paused. “Someone is putting a lot of pressure on us not to solve this. Even the lieutenant is pushing me to wrap this up.”

  Connie’s voice seemed meek and frightened. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to find out who did this. I hate to be pushed.”

  “What do you need from me?”

  “I spoke to some mutual friends. They led me to a guy named Treetop.”

  “Treetop? What’s he got to do it?”

  “His sister is hooked up with one of the drug dealers. And guess what, the trail leads to Houston.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit. Check out a club called “El Paradiso,” supposed to be one of his main operations. Guy who owns it is Carlos Cortes, goes by El Jabato. Treetop said he’s one nasty son-of-a-bitch.”

  “I’ll check it out. Thanks.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid. You got somebody you can trust?”

  Frankie could almost hear her smile through the phone. “Yeah. I got a pretty good guy. Couple of them.”

  “All right. Keep it quiet and stay safe. I’ll call if I get anything else. And Chambers said to say hi. He also said IA is checking the streets. That’s never good.”

  “Goddamn.” It sounded like she slapped the wall next to her. “Sorry about that. They piss me off. But thanks again, I appreciate what you’re doing. I got a question though—why are you helping me?”

  “Remember that line you accused me of moving too much? When you got shot, and cops got killed, somebody crossed it way too far. I intend to find out who.” Frankie paused. “And if you think it has anything to do with Dominic Mangini or Manny Rosso, you’re wrong. If I get something on them I’ll put them away like any other scum. You can tell them that if you want.”

  “No, don’t think I will.”

  “Thought so,” he said. “And, Gianelli. No matter what the deed on that club says, remember that Carlos owns it. He’s the one to go after. He’s the one who gave the orders that night in Brooklyn.” Frankie sucked the rest of the life from his cigarette, then crushed it out in the ashtray. “I did some more checking. He already has distribution moving into several major cities and he doesn’t hesitate to go after people. They say when he does, it’s brutal. No respect for anyone.”

  “Tell me about it. I witnessed that first hand.”

  “Speaking of brutal,” Frankie said. “You hear about what’s going on up here?”

>   “Like what?”

  “Three Mexican dealers found dead, tortured, eyes gouged out.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah, and rumors point to Mangini as the one behind it,” Frankie said. “You know anything about that?”

  “I already told you. I don’t—“

  “I know. You don’t know anything. But in case you do…be careful.”

  “You’re the best, Frankie. I’ll call when I get something. Talk to you later.”

  “Don’t take too long. Somebody up here wants your badge.”

  “I’m working on it as fast as I can.”

  “Yeah, later,” Frankie said, and hung up.

  ***

  As excited as I was by the news, I felt down. Frankie digging so hard into this made me realize what a hypocrite I was. I accused him of being dirty for associating with his old friends when I spent half my life with Dominic, one of the worst of the mobsters, if the street talk was to be believed. I tried to ignore the rumors, and usually did a good job, but when I got brave I faced it. Problem was, those occasions were few and far between, and they made me realize how much I hated Dominic—for the boys who wouldn’t date me when I was young, for how he interfered in my life, for the suspicion he cast on me at work, but most of all for simply being who he was. I raised my head and sighed.

  Now I had a new rumor to deal with. Dealers with their eyes gouged out! I couldn’t bring myself to believe that Dominic was involved, but somewhere inside I knew he was and I just didn’t want to admit it.

  How could it be Uncle Dominic, the man who took such care of my mother; the man who fixed me breakfast, and drove me to school; the man who kissed me goodnight and told me everything would be okay after my mother died. Whoever did those things to the drug dealers was not the same man I knew.

  How many ways can you hate someone and still love them.

  I wished for the millionth time I had someone to talk to. Another woman to share my miseries, fears, and worries with. I tried before with Zeppe’s wife, but that didn’t work. She had grown up old-school Italian. She lived for taking care of her family and thought all problems were solved by ignoring them.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, thinking. My nerves jumping as much as my heart was racing. I finally had something on the guy behind the bad bust. The only question was, what the hell was I going to do with it. I had to do something. I thought about calling Tip but discounted that. He was already in enough trouble.

  I’ll be seeing Tony tomorrow. He’ll know what to do.

  Chapter 25

  Coffee Shop

  Tony was sitting at a table in the corner when I arrived. I pulled up a chair and sat next to him. “Nice day,” I said, “but I can’t believe how hot it is. I don’t know if I could take this.”

  “Wait until July and August.”

  “If I’m still here in August I’ll shoot myself.”

  “I hear you,” Tony said, then nibbled on a raspberry scone and sipped his coffee. “What’s up? Anything new?”

  “I’ve got some information you might use.”

  “You got information for me?”

  “From Brooklyn. Word is that a club called El Paradiso is a major connection used by Carlos Cortes, who goes by El Jabato.”

  Tony looked at me then laughed. “Ain’t this some shit. You come here from the North Pole and tell me who’s doing drugs in my own town.”

  I sat back, afraid I might have bruised his ego. “I’m just—”

  Tony reached over and patted my shoulder. “Just messin’ with you. Down here everybody knows Carlos Cortes. And we know about El Paradiso. It’s a new place, but already with a reputation.” Tony squinted and leaned toward me. “You’re sure Carlos is the one behind your partners getting shot?”

  “I’m sure. Why?”

  “Because he keeps invisible. People know he’s behind things, but no one can prove it. Don’t worry, though. I’ll check it out. You still at the hotel?”

  “Still there.”

  “You need to tell Tip to get you a place,” Tony said.

  “What do you mean get me a place? I’m here on a case. You remember budgets?”

  “Just tell Tip. Your lieutenant will love you. In the meantime, I’ll see what I can find out about the club.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said, and headed out.

  I couldn’t help thinking about what Tony mentioned regarding a place to stay, so I called Tip. By late afternoon he had me set up with a friend of his who managed a new apartment complex. The guy owed Tip a favor—for what I didn’t ask—and he arranged to have me stay in a furnished apartment that was going to be used for a Model.

  “You got it for three weeks,” Tip said. “We’ll have this case cleaned up by then.”

  “What’s it going to cost?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” Tip said. “Skelly owes me a favor.”

  Tip had me meet him and we headed north, exiting not far from where Patti was found. I thought I’d entered an alternate universe. I ended up getting a two-bedroom apartment with plenty of windows overlooking a community pool. I wondered if I had died and gone to heaven. Now all I had to do was help Tip solve these murders then hope Tony could clear my name so I could go back to Brooklyn.

  ***

  All morning Tony had his snitches looking into El Paradiso. By late afternoon, he had enough to get unofficial approval to check the place out.

  He headed down to the barrio and walked the streets until he found Carla, a young woman he helped a few years back. She had been hooked on heroin and prostituting herself before she was seventeen. For all that mattered her life was over, another street kid waiting to die. Tony worked with her, though, and brought her around. He got her help and stayed with her while she got off the shit. Then he helped her get a job, and, most importantly, gave her support when she got low to make sure she didn’t falter. Now it was time for payback. If he was going to this club, he’d need someone on his arm. And he wanted someone who could look and talk the street life, not a fresh undercover.

  Half a block ahead he saw her, working the corner like she always did, trying to get the other girls off the streets. “Carla!”

  She turned, seemed to be squinting her eyes, then waved. “Tony, where you been?”

  “Been right here, baby. How’s it going?”

  “Fighting the tough fight. These kids don’t listen to shit. All on a fast track to kill themselves.” She pulled out a smoke and lit it. “I’ve still got one vice. Couldn’t give all of them up.”

  “We’ve all got vices.”

  “You need something?”

  Tony got serious. “You can tell me no and I won’t mind.”

  “Spit it out.”

  “I need a companion tomorrow night. I’m going to a club and I don’t want to go with a bare arm.” She started to talk, but he stopped her. “Before you agree, you’ve got to understand I’m after some bad guys.”

  “That why you’re not taking your wife?”

  “Carla, I love my wife, but she wouldn’t know what to do in a place like this. She’d have me killed in a heartbeat.”

  “Where are we going?” Carla asked.

  “Called El Paradiso. It’s on—”

  She whistled. “High class. And you’re not kidding about dangerous. Rumors all over about Paradise.”

  “I told you, you don’t have to come. I can get someone else.”

  “Who can you get better than me? I’m the real thing, baby; besides, I been there. Wouldn’t mind going back.”

  He looked at her with suspicion in his eyes.

  “It’s not like that, Tony. I won’t go to places like that without an escort I can trust—like you. I know you won’t let me lose control.” She kissed his cheek. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

  “Carla—”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “Some nights I go to bed, and when I say my prayers I ask God to let me come back as Belinda, so I can have you.”

  Tony hugged her. �
��You’re the best.”

  “What time?”

  “I’ll pick you up at 8:00.”

  “They won’t even be open at eight. Pick me up at nine; we’ll plan things and get there around ten.”

  Tony gave her a big hug. “See you at nine.”

  As he walked away, Carla hollered to him. “You better tell Belinda to take care of you beforehand, because once you get in that club you’ll get horny as hell.”

  He waved his hand, brushing her off. “Don’t worry about me.”

  Tony worried as he drove away whether he should be taking Carla. He picked up the phone, started to call her, then remembered she had no phone. As he sat in traffic, he convinced himself that he’d watch out for her, wouldn’t let anything happen. “Yeah, she’ll be all right.”

  Chapter 26

  In Trouble Again

  Tip picked up a couple bags of kolaches on his way to the station. Kolaches were big in Texas. Brought here by the Czechs, they had become a breakfast staple in many parts of the state. Tip brought enough for everyone to share, assuming they got to them before Fat Charlie. Tip was finishing his second one when Susie came in.

  “Tip, Lieutenant Renkin wants to see you.”

  “What for?”

  “Not good is all I know.”

  Connie looked worried. “What did you do?”

  Tip threw his plate away, and swigged the last of his coffee. “Didn’t do anything that I know of.”

  The walk to Renkin’s office seemed to take forever, the halls longer and the walls closer together. Tip knew something was up if he was being summoned, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what. It had been a few days since he’d pissed anyone off, which was possibly a new record for him. Susie was back at her desk, but she didn’t move to get up when Tip approached, just nodded toward the door.

  “He’s waiting.”

  “Know what it’s about yet?”

  “Not a peep.”

  Tip raised his eyebrows. “Guess I’ll find out,” he said, and opened the door. “Morning, John.”

  Renkin didn’t look up. “Sit down.”

  Tip plopped in the seat but didn’t put his feet on the desk. “Susie said you wanted me.”

  Renkin looked up from his work. “They want me to suspend you.”