5 Bad Moon

by Anthony Bruno

  She dug her nails into Gibbons’s forearm. “The priest!” she whispered. “It’s him!”

  “Who? What’re you talking about?”

  “The priest! It’s Emerick!”

  Gibbons looked at the guy in the purple tunic, smoke swirling in his wake and rising to the ceiling. He stared at the skinny guy’s pale face, the translucent eyelids, and he remembered the picture he saw of Emerick in handcuffs. Mentally he erased the beard and put the guy on a diet. Gibbons’s fingers went numb.

  Holy shit.

  Chapter 22

  Tozzi cleared his throat. The smell of incense always made him choke, even as a kid when he’d been an altar boy. Sal Immordino was on his right, playing dumb but looking at him out of the corner of his eye. His sister Cil was on Sal’s other side, leaning over the pew in front and scowling at Tozzi, her big designer glasses glinting with disapproval. Stacy was on Tozzi’s left, brows slanted back, moaning into his ear.

  “Let’s get out of here, Tozzi. We have to talk.”

  “Please, Stacy. Not now.”

  “This is disgraceful,” Sister Cil hissed. “Why don’t you take your friend and get out of here, Mr. Tozzi? I’ve never seen such disrespect in the house of God in my whole life.”

  Tozzi tried to ignore both women. It was Sal he was interested in. He sidled up to the big jooch and smiled into his ear for the benefit of the crowd. “So tell me, Sal, how’d you do it? Mistretta, I mean. How’d you pull it off?”

  “Leave my brother alone.”

  Sal gave him a drop-dead stare.

  Tozzi grinned at him. “C’mon, Sal. You can tell me. You already did it. It’s done. The old man’s gone. So whattaya gonna do now? Make peace with Juicy? Or shoot him, too? Huh?”

  “Leave my brother alone. You’re scaring him.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Toz-zee, let’s get out of here.”

  “Stacy, please.” He gave her a stern look. He hated when people whined.

  He could feel the tape recorder against his skin under his clothes, the reels turning slowly, waiting for Sal to say something. So far, though, all he had on tape were the two women. He had to get Sal to say something, something coherent. “So what’s the deal, Sal?”

  Cil leaned past Sal and shook her finger. “How many times do you have to be told, Mr. Tozzi? I don’t care what your position is. You have no right to be here.”

  When she called him “Mr. Tozzi” in that tone of voice, he suddenly remembered the day Sister Superior smelled the Mass wine on his breath when he was in fourth grade. The altar boys used to sneak swigs from the jug in the sacristy when they had to fill the cruets before morning Mass.

  “Toz-zeeeee.”

  He tried to ignore Stacy as he put his face up next to Sal’s. “C’mon, Sal. How’d you do it? Obviously you hired someone. But your credit must be good, ’cause as far as we can tell, you haven’t touched any of your overseas accounts since you been in the bin. ‘Course, a guy like you must have money squirreled away all over the place. How many little savings accounts you got, Sal? You know, the under-ten-grand accounts that nobody pays much attention to. Is that how you paid your shooter?”

  Sal’s upper lip rose in a sneer of contempt. He growled something under his breath, but Tozzi couldn’t make it out. He was sure it wouldn’t sound like anything on the tape.

  “You know what I can’t figure out, Sal? Why you drag your sister into your dirty work, that’s what I can’t figure. I guess you don’t care very much about her, ’cause she can face charges, too, you know. For one thing, she’s harboring you, which automatically makes her an accomplice. And wait’ll I get a search warrant for the Mary Magdalene Home. I’ll find something there. You can bet on that. And you know what? Even if I can’t pin anything on you, I’ll make something stick to her. That’s a promise. And there ain’t no law in this country says a nun can’t do time. You watch what I can do.”

  Sal kept giving him the hairy eyeball, but he kept his mouth shut.

  Tozzi kept smiling. “You think I’m bluffing? Just watch what kind of shit I can pull. I’ll fuck up your life so bad you will be mental when I get through with you. I’ll make sure Juicy finds out what good pals you and I are, how you sang like Tweetie Bird for me, told me all kinds of things about the family. See, we’re buddies now.” Tozzi put his hand on Sal’s shoulder. “I want everyone to see how close we are.”

  Sal shrugged Tozzi’s hand off. “Get away from me.” Sal spoke up this time. People in the pew in front turned around and stared at him. The tape had to have picked up that one. But so what? It didn’t prove anything.

  “Toz-zeeee.”

  “Stop talking to my brother.”

  Tozzi put his arm around Sal again, hugged him close, and smiled in his face.

  Sal went to wrap his big paw around Tozzi’s throat, but Tozzi grabbed his wrist. “What’s this? You trying to kill me again? You already tried that twice, Sal, and you blew it both times. You can’t touch me.”

  Sal countergrabbed Tozzi’s wrist. He grumbled deep in his throat. “Y’were just lucky.”

  Tozzi’s pulse started to race. He prayed the tape had gotten that one. Sal had just admitted it, at least by implication. Sal’s response implied that he was the one who sent the guy who shot him in the leg as well as the guy who killed John. It was on tape. At least he hoped to hell it was. Sal’s voice was pretty muddy. But if it was on tape, maybe it would be enough to convict him of John’s death. Maybe … but maybe not. It was only four garbled words, not enough to prove the guy was sane. Even if they brought him to trial for John’s murder, Sal could probably beat it with the insanity defense the way he always had. Tozzi’s joy evaporated. Sal was too goddamn smart. He wasn’t gonna talk, not really talk. Shit.

  “Leave him alone!” Cil sputtered.

  “Toz-zeeee!”

  There was just the hint of a smug grin on Sal’s blubbery lips.

  Tozzi stared him in the eye as he coughed into his fist. The incense smoke was getting thicker. The priest was coming down the center aisle. When he reached their pew, the priest stopped and swung the burning incense at them, banging the silver censer against the chain. Cil reared back from the hot, swinging pot, and Sal pulled his chin in. Tozzi couldn’t figure out what the hell the priest was doing this for. Then something occurred to him. Where were the altar boys? Why was the priest all alone? There should’ve been four altar boys for this service. At least, that was the way they did it when he used to serve at funerals.

  The chain stopped banging. Tozzi rubbed his smarting eyes. Suddenly there were yelps and squeals all around him. A woman in the row behind gasped. “Oh, my God!” Stacy clutched his arm for dear life.

  When Tozzi’s eyes cleared, he finally saw what everyone was reacting to. The skinny priest was holding a gun in his hand. It was leveled at their pew. “Step out, please,” the priest said. His face was sweaty. He couldn’t stop blinking.

  Sister Cil was outraged. “Donald, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Please let them pass, Sister.”

  “Donald, this is a church. Take off those vestments right now and go outside with that gun.”

  He shoved the gun in Cil’s face. “I said let them pass, Sister. Please.” His voice was shaky. So was his hand.

  Cil crossed herself quickly and moved out of the pew. Her tone changed. She pleaded with him. “Donald, please listen to me.

  But he wasn’t listening. The barrel of the gun roamed from Sal to Tozzi to Stacy and back.

  “You, you, and you,” he said, pointing to each of them. “Step out and go to the altar. You must do penance. You are all sinners.”

  Sal had his hands up in the air, but he wasn’t moving.

  Tozzi put his hands up, too. “Can we talk about this … Father?”

  Stacy was shaking. “What’s he gonna do, Tozzi?”

  The priest was stern. “You have all sinned. Now, get out here,”
he yelled.

  Sal muttered under his breath. “Take it easy, Donnie. Just take it easy.”

  Tozzi stared at the priest’s face. Donnie? Donald Emerick? Oh, shit.

  “Go to the altar, I said. Move!”

  “Easy, Donnie. Easy.” Sal shuffled to the end of the pew and moved into the aisle.

  Emerick swung the gun around and pointed it at Tozzi and Stacy. “You, too. Move!”

  “Okay, okay, we’re coming.” Tozzi started to move toward the end of the pew.

  Stacy froze, and Emerick screamed like a banshee. “You too, harlot!”

  Her face crumpled. “Please, no. Please.”

  “You sinned with him.” Emerick pointed the gun at Tozzi’s head. “You two sinned together. I can tell from the way you act.”

  She was breathing fast, sobbing and hyperventilating. “No. No. That’s not true. You don’t understand—”

  “Go to the altar. How many times do I have to repeat myself?”

  Tozzi was in the aisle with Sal. He spoke softly and evenly. “Do what he says, Stacy.”

  Reluctantly she started to move, her face as pale as Emerick’s, unsure whether to put her hands up or leave them on the pew in front.

  Cil was on her knees in the aisle. She was in a real state, beating her chest with both fists. “Mother of God, do something. Somebody, do something. This is the house of the Lord.”

  Wiseguys all around stuck out their bottom lips and shrugged. A guy wearing tinted aviator glasses and a bad hairpiece on the other side of the aisle patted his jacket to show that he wasn’t carrying a weapon. “Sorry, Cil,” he said. “It’s a funeral.”

  Stacy stepped out of the pew and stood next to Tozzi, trembling with her hands up.

  Emerick jabbed the air with the automatic. “Go … to … the … altar. The three of you. Go. Kneel before your Redeemer.”

  Tozzi looked at Sal. Sal’s eyes were dead as he started shuffling toward the altar. Stacy was sobbing. “Just do what he says,” he murmured to her. “It’ll be all right.” Tozzi glanced down at Emerick’s gun hand as he followed her up the aisle.

  They walked slowly up the center aisle and mounted the two marble steps that led to the altar. The three of them stood together on the red carpet facing the big crucifix.

  “Kneel down! Why do you make me repeat myself?”

  Stacy dropped to her knees. Sal lumbered down to his. Tozzi just stood there. He didn’t move.

  “Kneel!”

  Tozzi swallowed on a dry throat. He stood there, motionless.

  Emerick screamed, “Kneel down, sinner! Kneel!” He moved up behind Tozzi and jabbed the gun into his back.

  Tozzi let out a slow breath, remembering the last time he tried this, on a dark, drizzly street in Manhattan, the night he first met Stacy. She’d distracted him that time and he fucked it up. Wound up with a slug in his leg and six weeks’ sick leave. He’d better not fuck up now.

  Emerick poked him with the gun barrel again and hit the tape recorder. Tozzi stopped breathing, waiting for Emerick to say something about the hard object under his clothes.

  “Kneel!” Emerick screamed. “Kneel down!”

  He didn’t seem to notice. He poked Tozzi again and dug the muzzle into his back, trying to force him to his knees.

  Tozzi made his move then, rolling to the right and getting shoulder to shoulder with Emerick, taking his gun hand. He gripped Emerick’s hand with his thumb over the knuckles, pointing the weapon away. Pulling the arm forward and swinging it down, Tozzi made a line in the carpet pile with the barrel, taking Emerick’s balance, then he lifted the arm up and over Emerick’s head. Emerick toppled backward, and Tozzi maneuvered his body before he hit the floor, flipping him over on his belly and pinning the arm up straight in the air over his head. Tozzi pressed down and put enough pressure on the wrist to make it hurt. Emerick released his grip. Tozzi took the gun and shoved it in his belt as he dropped to one knee on Emerick’s lower back, pulling out his handcuffs and securing one wrist, then the other.

  “You’re sinners,” Emerick wailed with his face pressed to the carpet. “You must confess. You’re sinners. I know you have sinned.”

  Tozzi glanced down the long center aisle. Mistretta’s casket was all by itself at the back of the church.

  Emerick was rubbing his face into the carpet. “I know you have sinned together. I’ve seen this woman on television. I know she’s bad. Sister said so.”

  “You’re under arrest,” Tozzi said. He knew he was supposed to read Emerick his rights, but he didn’t think it would do much good. “You have the right to remain silent—”

  Emerick wasn’t listening. He was too distraught, weeping and wailing, floundering on his stomach. “I know you have sinned, too, Sal. I saw you. I saw you kill that old man. And his friend Jerry, too. That man was Sister Cil’s friend. She told me so. She said she liked Mr. Mistretta. I saw you shoot him. I saw all the blood on the floor.”

  A woman in the front pew screamed. The wiseguys started mumbling and grumbling. The discord spread through the pews like a brushfire. Tozzi scanned the crowd. Where the hell was Gibbons? He reached for Emerick’s gun in his belt.

  “Forget about it, Tozzi. Throw it down.”

  Tozzi looked up. The church was suddenly silent. Sal was standing behind Stacy. He had her arm pinned behind her back and a small automatic jammed under her chin.

  Tozzi stood up slowly. “Take it easy, Sal.”

  “Drop the friggin’ gun, Tozzi, or I’ll do her right here.”

  Stacy moaned as he cranked her arm.

  Tozzi showed Sal his open palms, then slowly he pulled out Emerick’s gun from his waistband with two fingers. He tossed it away behind him. The clatter of metal on the marble floor echoed through the church.

  Juicy Vacarini’s voice rose from the pews. “Get outta here, Tozzi. Leave. Let us take care of this.”

  He looked at Stacy. “I’m not leaving without her.”

  Stacy’s face was as white as the marble altar. She was terrified, too scared to move. Tozzi prayed that she’d faint. She’d make a lousy hostage if she were unconscious. But her eyes were wide open and she was breathing fast, panting. She wasn’t gonna faint. Maybe she’d hyperventilate and pass out. He wished she would.

  Juicy called out again. “I said, let us take care of this, Tozzi. It’s a family matter.”

  Tozzi looked out at the pews. Juicy was on his feet, four or five rows back. A few other guys were standing with him, guys from his crew. Across the aisle, Frank Bartolo’s son, Junior, was standing, too. His hand was inside his jacket.

  Tozzi looked past them. Shit. Where the hell was Gibbons?

  He looked back at Sal. “Let her go, Sal. It’s the only way I can get you outta here alive.”

  Emerick was still on his belly, sobbing into the carpet. “There’s too much sinning … too much sinning.”

  “Let her go, Sal.”

  “No fucking way, Tozzi. You’re gonna get us outta here all right. You and me and her.” His eyes were darting all around the church. He knew he was a dead man if he stayed here. He yelled out to the crowd. “Anybody comes near me, I shoot her first, then I start shooting at you. I got thirteen fucking bullets in this mother, and I swear to Christ I’ll use every goddamn one before I go down. Every one.”

  Tozzi’s breathing was shallow. All they needed was a firefight in church. They could have a great big funeral for all the victims, right here, right away. Tozzi scanned the side aisles. Where the hell was Gibbons?

  “Wake up, Tozzi.” Sal nodded at the center aisle. “Start walking. Nice and slow. We’re getting outta here.”

  “Sal, listen to me—”

  “Move! I’m gone. I’m gonna disappear.”

  “Listen. You surrender to me now, you can go back to Trenton. We—”

  “Fuck that. I ain’t going back there. Not me. Send Donnie boy back to Trenton. He likes it there. I ain’t no fuckin’ nut ca
se. Now, get moving. Go.”

  Stacy squealed as Sal cranked her arm again. “Tozzi, please! Do what he wants.” The gun was irritating the skin under her chin. Her neck was red and blotchy.

  Tozzi’s heart was thumping. They couldn’t stay here. Sal was desperate, and he couldn’t trust these wiseguys. Who knew how many guns they had out there? They could start a shoot-out any second. People would get killed, and Stacy would be the first. No. He had to take this outside. At least if it was just him and Sal, it would be a little saner, the odds a little more even. Sort of.

  Sal kneed Stacy in the backside to make her walk. “Get going, Tozzi.”

  “Okay, okay, I’m going.” Tozzi kept his hands up as he turned to go down the aisle. Mistretta’s casket was in the aisle at the other end of the church. No one else was back there. As he stepped down from the altar, he glanced back at Sal and Stacy, then looked up at the plaster Jesus bleeding on the cross. He let out a long sigh.

  You got any good ideas?

  Chapter 23

  “Just stay put, all of you. You keep walking, Tozzi.” Sal moved down the aisle, holding Stacy close, the barrel of that gun right up under her chin. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her jaw was clenched, either in pain or fear, probably both. She was up on her toes, Sal had her jacked up so high. He was practically carrying her.

  Tozzi walked backward down the aisle, facing them, ten feet away. He glanced right and left, hoping to God none of these idiot wiseguys decided to pull a gun. Sal was desperate—you could see it in his face—and he wasn’t kidding about emptying his clip and taking people down with him. Tozzi didn’t give a shit if Sal took down any of his goombahs. It was Stacy he was worried about. She was gonna be the first casualty if they started shooting. Tozzi scanned the pews, but it was impossible to tell if anybody out there was holding a gun.

  Sal’s eyes shot around the church, but they kept coming back to Tozzi. “Don’t get any ideas, Tozzi. Just be cool. Everybody be cool. We won’t have no problems that way. I’ll be gone and you can have your funeral. Okay?”