Cold Moon Dead

by J. M. Griffin

  Seedy moved to the side, so Mrs. J. could step forward. Dark, mean eyes peered at me. Recognition was instant and the nasty gleam froze like ice on a pond. She removed the cigarette with long, thin fingers tipped with nails covered in blood red nail polish. A chuckle started deep down inside her chest, turned into a witch’s cackle, and became louder and louder. She rushed forward, quickly ripped open my unbuttoned jacket, and yanked my sweater up before I could react. Grasping the wire attached to the small box attached at my waist, she pulled hard until the entire unit came apart. She stamped on it when it hit the floor. Then Mrs. J. glanced past me, turned, and ran like hell out the back door.

  “Hey, wait a minute. Where do you think you’re going?” I yelled. Though I was hot on her tail, she still gave me the slip. I glanced back when the front door crashed open and cops swarmed into the store. I heard them yell, “Stop!” “Hands up.” “Assume the position.” I raced toward the back of the store instead.

  I reached the back door of the building after a couple of wrong turns, just in time to see car taillights leave the end of the alley. I cut through the alley to the bank and started the Mercedes as Mrs. J.’s car raced past. In a few seconds, I was on the road not far behind her. I knew I could very well get stopped by a cop, and that this chase was foolish on my part. I was angry, Italian, and stubborn as hell: so many reasons for my foolishness.

  Mrs. J.’s car sped toward Cranston, taking a turn and skidding a bit as she made the sharp curve on the on-ramp to the highway connector. I slowed the pace of the Mercedes, knowing Mrs. J. was headed toward her house. It didn’t make sense to me, but by this time there were sirens in the background. We had company.

  At the off-ramp, Mrs. J. was nowhere to be found. I drove toward her neighborhood, taking the time to check driveways and parking lots where she might have stopped to hide. She was gone. I stayed on course, arriving at her house within minutes.

  The neighborhood was quiet, the houses looked empty—all but the one directly across from the Jabroni’s. The FBI had the house staked out. I could feel it in my bones that they were still there, and besides that, a nondescript delivery van sat out front.

  I left the car parked on the street at the end of the Jabroni driveway. Sauntering up the paved drive, I saw Mrs. J’s car parked at an angle. I checked the house for lights and activity. There wasn’t any action to be seen . . . until I found the inside door of the house ajar. Opening the storm door, I entered on silent feet, listening for sounds.

  Two muffled voices came from the den. Either the television was on or somebody was having a conversation. I opted for the second since the first option didn’t make sense. I edged closer and closer in the direction of the room where the good doctor had made his untimely departure. When I was close enough, I peered into the room.

  The crone and Tony Jabroni stood face to face, neither paying attention to anything around them. I turned to stare through the front windows of the dining room where I was still standing. Men with guns were approaching the house. Officers, dressed in State Police and FBI uniforms, scrambled around the outside of the house, their guns out and ready, along with the SWAT team dressed in full regalia. I started to shake and realized I was in a bad position. A position that was getting worse by the second. If I tried to leave, I might put myself in more danger since the group would be high on adrenaline at this juncture, which meant there might be someone who was trigger happy. God help me, I couldn’t mind my own business and now I was in big trouble.

  Their conversation had taken a negative turn. Raised voices replaced the mumbling. I held my breath, peered around the corner of the door frame, into the room . . . and froze in place. Jabroni held a gun and Mrs. J. held a knife. Good God, a standoff. How do I get into these situations?

  A hand closed over my mouth. Startled, I jumped as Aaron drew me away in one motion. I didn’t utter a sound or struggle, but followed his lead instead.

  With his gun drawn, his face cold and calculating, Aaron put me behind him. He edged toward the door.

  The yelling had stopped, a shot rang out, and I heard two bodies fall to the floor, one after the other. My eyes squeezed tight. I froze in place, unwilling to look at the devastation in the room.

  Officers swarmed through the house and over the grounds. A battalion of uniformed people had arrived to save my sorry ass or to arrest the two criminals that lived here. I wasn’t sure which reason had drawn them in, but didn’t really care. I was simply relieved that the cavalry had arrived.

  As with all adrenalin rushes, once it was over, my body felt suddenly depleted of energy. I slid to the floor and sat there until I heard Aaron’s voice from above.

  “You’re not hurt, are you?”

  I stared up into his cool eyes and shook my head. He leaned down and pulled me to my feet.

  “Let’s get out of here. They’re both wounded, but neither is dead.”

  “Don’t let me see the blood. I don’t want to be sick,” I pleaded. We hustled outside where I drew in gulps of air.

  We marched across the street into a parked van. Aaron sat opposite me on the bench seats. His face still held a cool look and his attitude was all business. I waited until he was settled before I uttered a sound.

  “I was part of a sting operation with the PPD. When Mrs. J. ran from the scene, I just started chasing her.” I shrugged and hoped that explanation would satisfy him. It’s sad to be wrong so often.

  “You should never have agreed to take part in such a dangerous operation. They had a lot of nerve asking you to be involved in apprehending her. You could be the one heading to the hospital, you know. What were you thinking?”

  I opened my mouth to answer him, but he kept talking.

  “I know, I know . . . you wanted your car back. Geez, Vin, you drive me crazy.”

  I smiled. I couldn’t help it. I drove one man crazy and the other one nuts . . . not bad for a day’s work. Aaron glared at me for a moment. Without warning, the door swung open and there was Marcus, staring in.

  “Do you want to explain your actions?” His matter-of-fact tone brooked no lies as he folded his arms over his protective vest.

  “The PPD asked me to help out, and I said I would.” I turned to Aaron. “I couldn’t tell anyone about Jabroni ’cause he was at my parents’ house. Marcus knew, but I asked if he would keep the news to himself.” I ran a hand through my hair, tossing it off my shoulders. “You guys need to cut me some slack here, you know. I was only doing what was right for my family.”

  “Oh, right. This had nothing to do with getting your car back, or putting the old bat in jail by means of payback for your separation from the Vuitton handbag?” Marcus waited for me to answer him.

  “Yeah, that about covers it,” I said. “I mean . . . I want my car back and for Jabroni to stop sponging off my parents. The handbag, well, that’s probably never going to be found.”

  The two men glanced at one another and shook their heads in unison. Apparently, they didn’t understand, but then they weren’t Italian either. An Italian would have understood that I did what I had to do for my family. The fact that I was angry with the Jabronis, and looking to get even with them both . . . yes, that might also have encouraged my participation.

  Chapter 25

  Classes at the downtown Providence campus of the university started on schedule. The students had backgrounds ranging from police officers to an author in search of fodder for a novel. It made me smile when he asked questions and the cops looked at him as though he was from Mars. I knew that look only too well.

  After I dismissed the students, I left the campus and drove to the hospital. Both of the Jabronis had been arrested and were under guard there. The doctor who had aided Tony had gotten into serious trouble with the police and the hospital for taking a bribe to pronounce him dead after he’d been stabbed at the gallery.

  The parking lot was jammed, as usual, so I parked in a spot reserved for a doctor. After jogging up the steps from the lot to the front door, I ente
red the lobby of the hospital, and marched toward the information desk. A large black woman turned toward me and asked if she could be of assistance. When I requested the room numbers for the infamous couple, she got all huffy and said they weren’t receiving visitors.

  I gave her the face—you know, the one your mother gives you when she’s not happy about something you’ve done—and turned away. My mind traveled at lightning speed, considering ways in which I could find out what floor the two losers were on. I remembered a nurse I knew, Rob Dubois, who worked on the surgical floor.

  The elevator stopped at the fifth floor. I stepped out and walked to the nurses’ station. As luck would have it, Rob stood facing me, a chart in his hands.

  He leaned across the counter and whispered, “Vin, the cops said you might show up, but I never really believed you would. What the hell are you doing here?”

  It wasn’t the reception I’d expected. I was right in thinking the two Jabronis were on this floor and that Rob knew he’d be in trouble if word got out we were friends.

  His face was stern and I could tell he wished I hadn’t stepped off the elevator on his floor. I said, “I’m here to see one of the cops guarding Jabroni. He needs his grades from last semester or he won’t get reimbursed by the department.” Hell loomed on my horizon, but I was ‘going for the gold’ in the lies department.

  “Call him, then.”

  “He’s not answering his phone,” I clarified, trying to sound miffed.

  “Fine, the officers are down the hall to the left. Be quick—and no funny stuff, Vinnie.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know.” I smiled and headed down the corridor. A heavy-set cop stood guard outside one room, and the other, leaner one leaned against the wall outside the room across from him. I knew them from past classes, but couldn’t remember their names.

  “Esposito, what are you doin’ here?” the heavy cop asked.

  “I need a moment with the Jabronis.”

  “Fat chance. I have strict orders that they are to have no visitors. Not even you—especially not you.”

  “Look, I’ll stand just inside the door and speak with Mr. Jabroni. I won’t interfere with your job or put you in a bind, honest. I’ll only be a moment,” I pleaded, then smiled. “He held my parents against their will, you know.”

  As a law enforcement instructor who works closely with police departments around the small state of Rhode Island, I’m often considered a member of the Fraternal Order of Police family. This gives me an advantage many don’t have, but they wish for. I never pass up an opportunity to use it to my advantage.

  The big guy waffled a bit, looked at the other officer across the hall, and finally stepped aside for me to enter the room. In a flash, I was inside and about two feet away from Jabroni’s bed.

  “So, you made it in to see me after all? I figured you would,” Jabroni said in his gruff voice.

  “I wanted to make sure you were alive so you could go to jail for attempted murder. If they can’t get you on racketeering, then attempted murder, or assault with intent to commit murder, should work nicely.”

  “Is that any way to speak to me after what I did for you?”

  “And that would be what, exactly?”

  “I protected you from my wife. She would have killed you had she gotten the chance when you came to the house sneaking around just before I shot her.” He saw my surprise and continued, “I knew you were in the next room trying to hide.”

  I didn’t know he’d been aware of it and didn’t care anyway. I wanted him in jail for placing my parents in a bad position. Now the Feds would be climbing all over their business and making their lives miserable. It pissed me off.

  “You know what? My mother was right about you. You are a bad, bad, bad man and should pay for your sins. Now you will have your chance.”

  “If this has to do with the death of your uncle . . . I didn’t kill him. He was killed by someone else, not me, and not on my orders.”

  “I don’t care if you didn’t kill him. You have done many other dirty deeds that more than qualify. There was a cold moon when you were stabbed and maybe you should have stayed cold moon dead. It would have saved the state considerable trial costs.”

  He remained silent. I turned and left the room.

  The heavy cop nodded as I walked across the hall toward Mrs. Jabroni’s room. Stepping toward the door, I glanced at the officer and nodded. He opened the door and stood aside. The door remained ajar. I guessed he wanted to make sure I didn’t choke the shit out of the woman or he wanted to hear what I said. Either way, it didn’t matter to me.

  The old woman had aged terribly. Her hair was askew, and her face was without make-up as she lay hooked up to machines, intravenous tubes with monitors that beeped every now and then. A pathetic-looking hag, but still a dangerous one for sure.

  Her dark eyes watched my movements as I stepped forward. Again I stopped about two feet from the end of the bed, as I had with Mr. Jabroni.

  “Where is my freakin’ car?”

  A weak cackle met the question.

  “You know the cops have you dead to rights. I just want the damned car back along with the handbag. So just tell me where they are, dammit.”

  “Go to hell.” She cackled again and turned her head away.

  Angry, my hands fisted at my sides. I stayed in place, resisting the urge to actually choke the life out of her. How could I get her to talk to me? An idea formed and I smiled.

  “By the way, I just left Tony and he has company. His lover is there along with his lawyer. They’re planning his release as we speak. Too bad he’ll live happily ever after while you’ll be a guest of the state at the women’s prison. No manicures, no lackeys, no maid service . . . you’ll just be one of the girls. Maybe you’ll even become a girlfriend of one of the inmates.” Oh yeah, I was on a roll now.

  A mean stare replaced the look of disinterest. Her anger mounted. I could tell by the way her nostrils flared as she peered at me.

  “He’s a bastard. Always was, and always will be.”

  “His lawyer says you’ll take the fall for a lot of crap and spend the remainder of your happy days in jail. What do you think of that?”

  “Get me the cops. That bastard will die in prison when I get done with him. I put up with his philandering ways for too long to stand for this shit now.”

  I nodded, and motioned for the cop to come into the room. When he stepped inside, I requested he get the district attorney on the phone and also the police chief and tell them to come to the hospital. He flipped open his cell phone and dialed a number. A few moments later, he said my requests were being met.

  “Now, if you want a sweet deal, tell me where my car and handbag are. When the DA gets here, I’ll tell him how helpful you’ve been.”

  “That car is long gone. You’ll never see it again. I gave the bag away to some homeless woman along with your cash and credit cards.” She laughed, coughed, and spit up some blood.

  The sight turned my stomach like flip-flopping Jell-O. I needed to leave before I threw up all over the floor. Motioning to the cop, I ordered him to get the medical team. He nodded. I hurried from the hospital as fast as my long legs would carry me.

  No car, no handbag. A bad mood was all I had as I drove away from the hospital. I turned the rental car toward my parents’ house and hoped they were having a better day than I was.

  Within minutes, I’d parked in the driveway and entered the house. It was quiet—no food cooking, no signs of life. I glanced around the pristine kitchen. Nobody was home, though the door had been unlocked. Hmm.

  Wandering from room to room, I called to my mother, my father, or to anyone who might be there. No answer. I had just settled at the kitchen table, wondering where they could have gone, when the door swung open and my mother strolled inside. Rosy cheeks set off her red nose caused by the brisk wind outside. The wool scarf fluttered to the chair as she took her coat off.

  “What are you doing here, Lavinia? Are you all right
?”

  Was I all right? The house was unlocked and empty upon my arrival, and she asked if I was all right?

  “Umm, I’m fine and how about you?”

  “Fine, just fine. I’ve been to the Post Office to renew my passport. Your father is taking me to Italy on vacation. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “Italy? You’re going to Italy? Why?” My mind shifted. Did they think they had to get out of the country fast? That they were in more trouble than they really were?

  As if reading my mind, my mother shook her head and looked at me.

  “It’s his way of making up for the Jabroni incident.” Her excitement rose and brightened the entire room. It brought a smile to my lips. “We’re leaving Monday.”

  All was well with my family, thanks be to God. No leftover anger, no recriminations, and no divorce. Yes, life was good.

  There was the aiding and abetting criminal issue, though. I checked my watch and figured Marcus would be dropping by anytime now. I’d no sooner had the thought when he knocked on the door. My mother turned and beckoned him inside.

  Moments later, my father strolled through the door. We all sat gathered at the table and it seemed we were all waiting for something. My father glanced around at each of us and finally asked, “What?”

  I took a deep breath and answered him. “Dad, Mom, Marcus would like to talk to you about recent events and your part in them.”

  My father blustered, gave me a piercing look, and then motioned for Marcus to go ahead and talk. I leaned back in the chair, waiting for fireworks to begin, but I was mistaken. My father listened as Marcus outlined why my parents’ actions were criminal, how they could have been prosecuted, and lastly how dangerous their situation had been. When he finished speaking, Marcus glanced at me with a slight smile.

  My father said, “You’re right, of course. I shouldn’t have taken Tony in, but I couldn’t let his wife kill him. He will now be tried and punished for his crimes. It’s not for me or mine to judge him. Thank you, Marcus, for talking to us about this, though.”