by J. L. Abramo
Ferdinand Pugno was expecting to hear from me, but I didn’t feel sufficiently prepared. I decided to keep him waiting until the next day, late the next day—after he buried his son Carmine in the morning. I would tell him I had tried my best with no luck, and let the chips fall where they may.
There was no need to call John Sullivan. If I dropped the subject, John would forget it also—something he could cross off his To-Do List.
The NYPD would not be interviewing Jack Valenti again, and Maria Leone would forget ever meeting him.
Roseanna Napoli, in spite of her miraculous revelation, would say: What drawing?
I’d had the advantage of friends in the right places. “The Fist” could hire another investigator, but no one else could possibly be so lucky.
Ferdinand Pugno would never know who killed his son, Carmine, and he would suspect everyone. From any competing crime boss looking to expedite resolution to disputes over territorial rights—to any one of Carmine’s own men who had lofty aspirations and was sick and tired of being sent out for meatball sandwiches. Throw the total fuck-up Freddy Fingers into the mix, and the once powerful Pugno Crime Empire would be paranoia central for a long time—if it survived at all.
And, honestly, the prospect didn’t break my heart.
It was after nine, and I realized I had missed my evening meal—once again. I would be drinking my dinner that Thursday night.
And later, in spite of the constant movement of my bed as it rocked on the tides of Sheepshead Bay, I was granted a restful and guiltless sleep.
Back to TOC
CONEY ISLAND AVENUE
A preview of the long-awaited follow-up to the acclaimed thriller GRAVESEND coming from Down & Out Books
The Night Before
Bill Heller could not shake the feeling he was being followed.
Heller was driving up 18th Avenue toward Ocean Parkway to pick up the Prospect Expressway.
When he stopped at a red traffic light on 77th Street, he noticed the OPEN sign in the window of Il Colosseo.
He decided to go in and have something to eat and try at the same time to determine if he was being tailed.
The restaurant was nearly empty at nine-forty on a Tuesday night.
They had stopped seating at eight-thirty. The sign on the front door had been flipped over to the side that read CLOSED.
A young couple rose from their chairs at the back of the dining room, the young man placed a tip on the table and escorted his girl to the front door.
Three twenty-something females were putting money together to cover their bill.
A man in his late thirties sat alone at a table near the front window.
The bus boy had already started clearing vacant tables.
A waitress was refilling salt and pepper shakers.
The restaurant manager stood at the cash register.
The diner at the window spotted a big man in a jogging suit out on the street, straining to look inside.
He had paid cash. His waitress brought his change and his receipt, a carbon duplicate of the three-by-five inch guest check.
He asked her for a pen and a rubber band.
The large man in the jogging suit made his way back to a car parked on the opposite side of 18th Avenue. A second man was seated behind the wheel.
“Well?”
“He’s still there. He’s sitting alone in front.”
They watched the young couple leave the restaurant.
“How many others inside?”
“Looks like three more customers. There are at least three others working the floor, and maybe one or two in the kitchen. They’re shutting the place down.”
“Let’s wait,” the man in the vehicle said.
A few minutes later the two men across the avenue watched as the three young women came out of the restaurant.
“Those are the last customers other than him,” the big man said.
“Do you think he spotted you?”
“No, and what if he did. I’m just a guy on the street glancing into the place as I passed.”
Just a big ape in a goombah outfit, the second man was thinking.
“Take the car, go around to the back and watch the rear exit. If he isn’t out in five minutes, I’m going in,” he said.
He climbed out of the vehicle and handed over the car keys.
The man at the table near the front window scribbled a note on the back of his receipt.
He called the bus boy over.
“Where is the rest room?” he asked the kid.
“Down at the end of the hall in back.”
“Can you hold this for me?” the man asked.
He placed something into the bus boy’s hand and without waiting for an answer he walked toward the rear.
It was a small solid item.
It was wrapped in a paper guest check receipt held by a rubber band.
“Go back there and see what’s taking him so long,” the manager said. “We need to lock up and get finished here.”
The bus boy walked back to the men’s room.
He had slipped the small package into his apron pocket.
He returned a moment later.
“He’s gone. He went out the rear door,” he said, just as a well-dressed man opened the front door.
“We’re closed,” the manager said.
“I’m looking for a friend who said he would be here.”
“All of the customers are gone. The last seems to have used the rear door for some reason. Maybe he was parked back there.”
“Can I go out that way?”
“Go ahead. I need to lock the doors before someone else wanders in.”
The well-dressed man exited through the back door and saw the ape in the jogging suit getting into the car.
“Did you see him come out?”
“I was about to drive around front to pick you up. I sandbagged him when he came out the door. He’s in the back seat, gagged and tied.”
“Did he have it?”
“I thought it might be a better idea to get away from here and find a more private place to pat him down.”
Thirty minutes later, only the bus boy and the restaurant manager were left in the restaurant.
The young man had forgotten the small package until he removed his apron.
He placed it into his jacket pocket.
“Are you all done?” the manager asked.
“Yes.”
“Then go, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The bus boy stepped out onto 18th Avenue to wait for Alison, who was on her way to pick him up. Her roommate was out-of-town and he was looking forward to being alone with her in her apartment.
Alison was a very playful girl. Maybe she would let him spend the night again.
While he waited, he pulled the small package from his pocket. He removed the rubber band and the paper guest check, revealing a small tape recorder and a fifty-dollar bill.
He noticed there was writing on the back side of the check.
Keep this safe. I’ll make contact. There’s another hundred in it for you.
He stuffed it all back into his pocket as Alison’s Chevy Impala pulled up to the curb.
ONE
The face in the mirror returned a dazzling smile.
The lips, complete with a fresh coat of COVERGIRL Fairytale 405 lipstick, mouthed three words. I feel pretty.
It was her twenty-fourth birthday, Eddie had made dinner reservations at the New Corners Restaurant and Angela Salerno knew Eddie Cicero was going to pop the question.
Eddie would be arriving soon to pick her up, with a fistful of flowers and a ring hidden in a jacket pocket. Angela turned from the mirror and redirected her attention to the new dress neatly laid out on the bed. It was a little black number, short black satin with spaghetti strings. When Angela had tried the dress on at Cue Boutique in Fort Hamilton her best friend Barb had assured her: You look so hot you are going to burn New Corners down.
It was Barbara who
confirmed Eddie had a ring. It was Barbara’s boyfriend Albert, Eddie’s best friend, who let Barbara in on the secret. Barb had not been able to keep it to herself.
Angela didn’t mind, she could act surprised. She was thrilled knowing Eddie had finally decided to take the big step.
Angela was about to pull the new dress over a short black silk slip when there was a knock on the apartment door. Eddie was early. Better than late.
She danced over to the door and she looked through the peephole.
It was her brother Vincent.
She reluctantly opened the door. Vincent rushed in, moved her back into the living room and quickly pushed the door shut.
Vinnie was carrying a large green gym bag and he was visibly upset.
“I need money, Angie,” he said.
“Hi, Sis, it’s been awhile, you look great, happy birthday,” Angela said.
“Hi Sis, happy birthday, you look great,” Vinnie said. “I need money.”
“I have an address for his parents’ place and one for his sister. I want both watched until he shows up.”
“Give me the addresses, I’ll call Gallo,” Mr. Smith said.
Thomas Murphy took possession of a stool at the bar.
Augie Sena, from the opposite side of the bar, set a bottle of Samuel Adams Boston Lager within Murphy’s reach a moment later.
“I haven’t seen you move that fast since the last visit from the Health Department,” Murphy said. “How did you know I wanted a beer?”
“Wild guess. It’s on me.”
“My birthday is not for another five months.”
“I might not live that long,” Augie said. “The beer, my friend, is meant in way of congratulations.”
“You heard I won two bucks on a ten dollar lottery ticket?”
“I heard you’re up for lieutenant.”
“Bad news travels fast,” said Murphy. “Thanks for the beer anyway.”
“I’ll bet you the two bucks you would love the fried calamari over linguini for dinner.”
“Wild guess?”
“Just call me Sena the Psychic, but the calamari is not on the house.”
“That, my clairvoyant friend, even I could have guessed. I’ll take it with the hot sauce.”
Angie Salerno gave her brother Vincent all of the cash she had on hand.
Seventy-seven dollars.
Vinnie thanked her with a bear hug.
“Okay, Vincent. You’ll ruin my makeup. And what’s with the gym bag? Did Mom’s washing machine break down or are you planning a trip to Monte Carlo?”
“Cute. I have to run. By the way, you do look great.”
“Thanks. Go, before Eddie gets here and I beg him to slap some sense into you,” Angie said. “Be careful.”
Vinnie ran down the two flights of stairs and was about to exit through the front door when he suddenly decided against it.
He continued down to the basement instead, opened the metal door at the rear of the house, skipped up the concrete steps and slipped out to the back alley.
He headed down the alley toward Avenue U, turned east on the avenue, and hurried over to the elevated train station on McDonald Avenue.
He rushed up the stairs and anxiously waited for an F Train.
A man in a gray suit slipped into the front passenger seat of a black Lincoln sedan on the opposite side of the street from the house entrance.
“Are you sure he’s in there?” he asked the man behind the wheel.
“I watched him go in and I called you, I haven’t seen him come out. I checked the mailboxes. His sister lives on the top floor.”
“I would rather deal with him out here.”
“We can wait.”
“Fuck.”
“What?”
“Who is that?”
They watched a young man walk into the building.
“How the fuck should I know?”
“On second thought, let’s not wait.”
“There’s a kid in a hurry,” Augie Sena said, seeing a young man with a green gym bag race past the front window of Joe’s Bar and Grill. “Maybe you should go after the kid. He may have knocked off the Jerusalem Pizzeria.”
“He’d deserve a medal. The pizza there tastes like soaked cardboard.”
“How is the linguini?”
“Not bad,” Murphy said. “How did you get it delivered here so fast?”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a laugh a minute, Tommy?”
“I hear it every sixty seconds,” Murphy said, slipping a forkful of calamari past his smile.
“My sister’s boy is popping the question.”
“What question is that? Why is the eggplant always greasy?”
“He bought a ring for his girlfriend.”
“Jesus, Augie, what kind of uncle are you?” Murphy asked. “Couldn’t you talk him out of it?”
“You’re a hopeless cynic, Tommy. I haven’t met her, but my sister says she seems likes a very nice girl.”
“They all seem like nice girls, Augie. And then they grow into their mothers. Which sister?”
“Rosie.”
“The sister who married Cicero? I’m not too sure about her judgment.”
Murphy shook his head and let out a deep sigh.
“What?” asked Augie Sena.
“The cynic and the psychic,” Murphy said. “What a pair.”
It was all Eddie Cicero could manage to say when Angie opened the apartment door wearing the short black spaghetti string dress.
“Wow.”
“Not bad, right?”
“How am I supposed to give the osso buco at New Corners the attention it deserves with you sitting across the table in that thing?”
“Chew slowly,” Angie said, beaming.
Eddie handed her a dozen red roses.
Then there was a rapping at the door.
“Expecting your other boyfriend?” Eddie said.
“Everyone is a comedian. It’s probably my worthless brother. He was just here for another handout.”
Angie opened the door half way.
The two men in the doorway did not look friendly.
“We’re looking for Vincent Salerno,” said the shorter man.
He was well groomed and he wore a gray business suit. An expensive suit. He could have passed for a banker.
His companion wore a blue jogging suit and looked like something she might have seen in a zoo.
“Vincent is not here,” Angie said, Eddie close at her side.
“We saw him come in.”
“He was here, he left. I don’t know where he ran off to.”
“Mind if we take a look?”
“Yes. I do mind.”
The ape violently shoved the door open, knocking Angie and the flowers to the floor. Eddie reacted and went after the big man. The gorilla laid Eddie out cold with a roundhouse punch. The two men walked into the apartment. The well-dressed man shut the door while the big man kept an eye on Angie.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” the banker said.
“Very original. God, you really hurt him,” Angie said, looking over at Eddie.
The big man kicked her in the side.
“Where is Vincent?”
“I told you I have no idea where my brother went,” Angela screamed from the floor. “Keep that animal away from us.”
The big man kicked her again.
Then he pulled a gun out of his jacket and pointed it down at Eddie. Eddie was still unconscious.
“Please, don’t,” Angie said, terrified. “Take whatever you want. I swear, I won’t say anything to anyone.”
“Where is your brother?”
“I don’t know.”
“I am not going to ask you again.”
“Please, I don’t know.”
“Fine. I believe you,” the banker said.
Suddenly the big man made it official and then Mr. Smith made it absolutely final.
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ABOUT T
HE AUTHOR
J. L. ABRAMO was born in the seaside paradise of Brooklyn, New York on Raymond Chandler’s fifty-ninth birthday. A long-time educator, journalist, theatre and film actor and director, he received a BA in Sociology at the City College of New York and an MA in Social Psychology at the University of Cincinnati. Abramo is the author of the Jake Diamond mystery series including Catching Water in a Net (recipient of the MWA/PWA Award for Best First Private Eye Novel), Clutching at Straws, Counting to Infinity, Circling the Runway and the prequel Chasing Charlie Chan—as well as the stand-alone crime thriller, Gravesend. Abramo is a member of the Mystery Writers of America, International Thriller Writers, Private Eye Writers of America and Screen Actors Guild. Abramo lives in Denver, Colorado.
http://www.jlabramo.com/
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ALSO BY J. L. ABRAMO
Jake Diamond Mystery
Catching Water in a Net
Clutching at Straws
Counting to Infinity
Circling the Runway
Jimmy Pigeon Mystery
Chasing Charlie Chan
Stand Alone Novels
Gravesend
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Other Titles from Down & Out Books
See DownAndOutBooks.com for complete list
By Anonymous-9
Bite Harder (TP only)
By J.L. Abramo
Catching Water in a Net
Clutching at Straws
Counting to Infinity
Gravesend
Chasing Charlie Chan
