The black BMW was fast and Donny wasn’t taking any chances with being tardy to O’Neil’s happy hour. There was minimal conversation in the car because of the loud techno bass pounding the interior without remorse. It was a catchy beat I’d heard before; however, Donny could tell this wasn’t my kind of music. He lowered the volume and broke the silence. “I hear we are going to be partners.”
“Donny, I can’t even begin to tell you how excited I am. But I have to be serious for a moment; you really didn’t mean what you said at the Paulson scene, right?”
“Let me ask you a question, Matt—did Steven deserve to die?”
I knew I looked confused. Donny laughed at my expression of disbelief. I couldn’t believe we were actually having this discussion.
“We are not the judge or jury,” I said, stuttering.
“Our job is to make the arrest based on probable cause, which we clearly had with Steven.” Donny stopped the car on the side of Midland Avenue. “This is our town, Matt. No one is going to help us solve crimes here. I have seen too many creeps get off on the most heinous crimes: date rapes, arsons, sexual assaults, you name it. If I have a chance to bring justice to a victim, I will, and no one will stop me. Are we clear on that? Your answer will directly affect your new detective assignment. The only thing I ask for is TRUST! No more, no less. You know who I am and I am sure you know who my family is. Do you think I am really here for the money? Besides, the Captain supports everything I do.” Donny laughed harder and it sounded sinister.
I looked straight into Donny’s eyes as we parked outside the bar. “You have my word.”
I exited the Beemer, feeling woozy. How could the Captain be involved with Donny’s secret plan? I found myself in a real pickle. A dilemma of epic proportions. Finally, I had broken through the everyday nonsense of patrol and was embarking on the career path I always wanted. Could I play along with Donny’s total disregard of the US Constitution and due process? After all, who would notice in this small town of ours if things went haywire? Like Donny said, “This is our town!”
The bar was empty except for a couple of local townspeople. I recognized a few faces as I eased into the bar stool in front of a fresh batch of peanuts. Donny went to use the head. I couldn’t take my eyes off the bartender, whom I never saw before. She was beautiful and introduced herself as Daniela. I was instantly intrigued. However, I knew if anyone was landing this beauty tonight, it would be Detective Donny Mello. He was walking back from the bathroom, smiling from ear to ear as he sized up Daniela. I ordered two Coronas with lime and watched happily as Daniela reached into the icebox, exposing nice cleavage. Her nipples stood at attention. Donny whispered in my ear that her tits were fake. I politely disagreed with his estimation.
Before I knew it, the bar was packed and Donny and I were in the middle of the action. I was on Corona number nine; Donny was behind a little at number seven. However, he was mixing shots of tequila with his beers and Daniela was doing them with him. It was obvious she was into his charm and mystique. His wallet came out of his pocket a few times, exposing the gold shield. Daniela knew we were cops, and I am sure that was a major turn on for her.
My cell phone rang—Franny wondering where I was. I told him to come and pick me up as my car was still at headquarters. When he arrived, instead of pulling me out of there, he became star struck by the bartender’s rack. He wasn’t going anywhere. I unfortunately started doing tequila shots and the drinks kept flowing.
I don’t remember how I got home, but finding Daniela in my bed was a nice surprise. How did I land this girl away from the likes of Donny Mello? He was the ultimate ladies’ man. I looked around for some evidence of sexual contact as my memory of last night ended when Franny showed up. There were two open condom wrappers next to the bed, and I was relieved that I was at least smart. I have no idea how I could have used two of them. I could barely open my eyes at this point. My hangover was so blinding that the pink bedspread looked like it was changing colors. My brain did a three sixty as I realized I wasn’t home. I must be in Daniela’s room, which appeared to be decorated for a high school cheerleader. I was surrounded by pink walls, pink teddy bears, and pink thongs. I was scared, and questioned my mind, trying to figure out how old she was. The thought of my car still parked at headquarters dropped into my head like a brick along with the realization that I was stranded in an unknown location.
Daniela, who was completely naked, was sleeping on her back with her melons sitting perfectly on her chest. Donny was right; her tits were fake.
Chapter Eleven: Dirty Frank
August 26, 2007
I sit up in my bed naked and full of sweat—in my own room and entirely awake. “What the fuck is going on?” I think to myself. My room is quiet and is cloaked in darkness. No light comes in any of the windows. I step out of bed and walk to the windows to find that all the streetlights are out. Not a single light shines from the apartment building across the street. I fumble for my watch on my nightstand. Shit, it’s only 3 a.m. The power must be out, which means my air conditioning is off. That explains the sweat and my lack of clothes. I search for my boxers with my feet. Instead of looking for a flashlight, I lie back down in my damp bed, too tired to change the sheets, and drift back off to a restless sleep.
October 16, 2001
My first day in the detective division consisted of Donny bringing me up to speed on all of his cases. Unfortunately, he had been doing this job alone for too long and was relieved to have a fresh pair of eyes to assist him. The best part about our division was just that—it belonged to us. We reported only to Captain Grassio. Patrol had no idea what we were up to, nor did they care. Donny had been trying to solve this alleged pedophile case he had been investigating for a month. The suspect was a white male, approximately fifty years old, driving a white work van. That description fit hundreds of handymen, plumbers, electricians, painters, and heating and air conditioning contractors who passed through Hutchville on a daily basis. This would be a difficult case to crack. Plus, you didn’t know how much of the story was real. These middle school aged children had wild imaginations and could concoct a story in seconds. Several incidents had been reported with middle school girls being approached by this unknown male asking to drive them home. This happened at school dismissal time when our patrol cars were either on traffic assignments or shift changes. There was no overtime to allow for surveillance, so everyone was praying nothing bad happened. Donny, on the other hand, was hoping to catch this pervert and offer him a lot more than a jail cell.
Donny and I were positioned in our black Chevrolet Impala with the darkest tints you could find anywhere. I was driving while Donny loaded his Remington semi-automatic shotgun with double O buck shells. He didn’t want to shoot you once or from afar, he wanted to pump you full of nine .32 caliber bullets up close and personal. We were perched on Center Street overlooking a small bridge over the Hutchville Creek. I peered through binoculars. Several kids, about twelve years old, made their way from the school property onto Webster Ave. It wasn’t long before Donny picked up a slow moving white vehicle heading in the direction of the children.
“Look at that van!” He pointed excitedly. The van was now slowing to talk to a young blonde girl who was walking alone.
My binoculars were military grade, a gift from my father upon completing the police academy. I had no use for this huge optical while in patrol, but they were perfect for my new assignment. I could see a squirrel take a dump at two hundred yards and tell you the color. There were no obstructions between my lens and the man in the white van. The driver, who was a heavy set white male, slowed directly next to a barely teenaged girl. I could see that the driver was talking to her as he leaned over towards the passenger window. I thought for a moment he could be a father picking up his daughter from school, but her body language painted a very different picture. Her posture was erect. She kept easing her feet back towards the sidewalk as the driver kept moving closer towards her. Something was definit
ely off in this encounter. We hurriedly packed up our surveillance gear and were mobile in a minute’s time.
The driver of the van sped off, heading towards the parkway, which was about a mile away. He would never make the entrance ramp. Donny and I were on his tail in an instant. Donny hit the siren and popped the switch for the emergency lights. We both had a good feeling about this guy possibly being our suspect. I picked up the police radio mike to call in the plate and was quickly stopped by Donny. I looked at him and he said softly, “No paper trail.”
Donny was referring to the computer entry made by headquarters to a state database that would generate a message regarding this car stop. I instantly knew where Donny was going with this. The butterflies in my stomach had turned into battering rams.
We stopped the van at the intersection of Center Street and Webster Avenue without any complications. It was a beautiful fall afternoon. There were kids everywhere making their way home from school.
Donny sprang from the passenger side of our vehicle, and headed straight towards the passenger side window, which appeared open. There were no windows on the sides of this van, so I paid particular attention to the driver side window and mirror. I was feeling pretty excited about this car stop, especially not being in uniform for the first time. It was strange to be wearing blue jeans and a black sweatshirt with a baseball cap and not the standard blue uniform. I instantly loved the freedom of not being confined to patrol anymore.
Donny had the shotgun in hand, hidden behind him as he walked up on the driver who was sitting happily in the driver seat holding his DMV paperwork. The unknown white male turned his head towards the passenger window, surprised to see the long black gun pointed directly at his face, causing his demeanor to change almost instantly. The guy put his hands up slowly and asked Donny what this was about.
Donny didn’t speak. I edged up on the driver’s side and asked for his license, vehicle registration and proof of insurance. The driver jumped as I spoke, not knowing I was there because he was paying too much attention to Mr. Remington. He panicked, dropping his paperwork in his lap before finally handing the items to me.
Donny made no attempt to back off with his shotgun. I re-holstered my Glock; confident Donny would take the other man’s head off if he tried anything, especially since Donny had a better vantage point from the other window. I was able to see a brand new roll of duct tape, gloves, and a large gray Nike duffle bag on the passenger seat while checking the inspection sticker on the front window. I was pretty certain Donny saw these suspicious items too.
I identified the driver as Mr. Frank Cipriano, who resided within our community of Hutchville. I never heard this guy’s name before. He must have moved into town recently. On first appearance, Frank looked like a total slob. His round belly was so fat it almost touched the steering wheel of his white Ford Econoline van. His clothes were stained and disheveled. He definitely had the look of a pedophile, but we couldn’t know for sure.
Before I could say anything, Donny looked at Frank and said, “Sorry mister, you were driving a little fast in a school zone. Please slow down in the future and have yourself a wonderful day.”
Frank’s expression was that of relief., “Do you guys always pull people over with a shotgun?”
I wanted to tell this fat bastard to shut up, but I let Donny deal with the situation. Donny turned around, walked back to the van with a condescending smile, and replied, “Would you like a handful of tickets, sir? Better yet, how does reckless driving sound?”
I stood in disbelief as Frank took back his papers. I looked at his license one more time to make sure I had his address memorized. As I walked away from the vehicle, I was pissed at Donny for letting this piece of shit leave without asking one investigative question. Donny was waiting for me in the car when I sat back into the driver seat. I shot him a scorned face, to which he laughed out loud.
Donny’s smile looked freaky. His words scared the shit out of me. “Tonight is your night bro; you are the luckiest son of a bitch I know. First day, and you land a whale.” I was confused.
There was no way my body could handle another night of drinking like we did last night, and I told him so.
Donny laughed. “We are going to visit Mr. Cipriano tonight, stupid. Please tell me you got his address from his driver’s license.”
I looked at Donny, trying to maintain my composure. “What am I, a fucking rookie?”
Chapter Twelve: All or None
October 17, 2001
The black BMW was parked outside. Techno music pumped from inside the M6 coupe. Donny Mello had one thing on his mind tonight. Dozens of things battled in my mind. Most of all, second thoughts about this secret mission. I opened the car door and slipped inside. Donny was already wearing black gloves. He turned the music down and asked if I was carrying my cell phone. I was and he told me to take it back inside my house. According to Donny, who has more knowledge on this subject than me, our cell phones could be traced through cell towers along the way.
Donny said again, more sternly this time, “No paper trail. So, where we heading?” A wicked smile appeared on his face.
All evening, I’d wanted to forget the address but at the same time, I wanted to impress Donny. Criminal investigation is all I ever wanted to do, particularly since my chances of making detective were that much greater.
Part of me wanted to give the wrong address, but that would mean an innocent person might get hurt or worse. “Three two five Adams Place,” rolled off my tongue, followed up by, “Apartment 3A.”
This isn’t really happening, I thought, as Donny changed lanes and slowed, as not to draw attention to his coupe. He and his car were well known around Hutchville, and he couldn’t afford to be seen, especially by our own brothers in blue.
Five minutes later, we were parked down the street from Frank’s apartment. My stomach was really churning now. I couldn’t believe how calm and collected Donny appeared. He was singing to a song on the radio and thumping his hand on the steering wheel.
Donny turned off his headlights and then the car as we discussed our game plan for the attack. I was surprised to see a pizza box in the back seat. His plan was to fake a delivery. Sounded perfect to me at the time. Donny handed me plastic gloves and paper booties to place over my shoes. He really came prepared for this. I was in charge of security as he was to make entry into the apartment quietly. After knocking out Cipriano with his blackjack, he would signal through the front window of Apartment 3A for me to come inside.
Adams Place was a tree-lined street with cooperative apartments running on both sides. They were nice apartments; each building had four that were accessed through a mutual lobby. Red brick fronts with ivy growing up the corners depicted an Ivy League college type feel.
I wanted to be anywhere but here. It must’ve shown on my face. “Relax.” Donny smiled and continued, “We are just going to scare him. Remember, Matt, this is our town and we are looking out for our people, especially our children.”
It was just after one in the morning as we made our move towards Frank’s place. His white van was parked in front of his building. Donny made note of the vehicle and whispered, “The fucker’s home.”
The apartment appeared dark, except for a television on in what appeared to be a front bedroom. I looked at Donny, not so sure the pizza idea was going to be our best option because of the late hour.
That’s when I noticed. Donny had nothing in his hands, so I quickly regrouped and focused on my task at hand. I whispered to Donny, “We are just going to beat his ass, right?”
Donny looked at me with his Sicilian green eyes and laughed quietly to himself, shaking his head. I waited in a thick bush directly below a window of Frank’s apartment, moving my eyes back and forth to take in the slightest movement in the neighborhood and the building.
Out on the street, a car turned the corner onto Adams Place, switching its high beams on to see more of the road. It crept along, well under the speed limit. On first glanc
e it appeared to resemble a taxi looking for an address. The car was white. I could hear noise coming from the vehicle that didn’t sound like music. It was moving with its interior light on, making the driver’s face almost visible even from a slight distance.
My heart pumped my blood faster. My knees wanted to buckle, but I kept them locked. I was surprised and even more frightened to see that the vehicle was a Hutchville Police Patrol car with P.O. Chris Finley operating it. I was very friendly with Chris. However, I didn’t think he would appreciate that two of his fellow officers were about to commit assault, even if our intended victim was a pedophile.
Thankfully, Donny had gained access to the lobby. The door shut behind him, hiding his profile from the passing cruiser.
As soon as the vehicle disappeared around the bend, I heard a little muffled noise come from over my head. I looked up to the front window, surprised to see my partner smiling from ear to ear. “Hey, butt nut, come in.”
He didn’t ring the doorbell. How the hell did he get in so quickly, and without any real noise? I wondered what occupation my partner held before he swore to protect and serve.
I entered the lobby quietly and was pleased to see a dim yellow light barely illuminating the hallway. I immediately notice the blue carpet on the floor, feeling relieved I was wearing booties. Not a drop of dirt from my boots would attach itself to the Berber fibers. There were four metal steps up to Frank’s apartment. Apartment 3B was directly across from Cipriano’s door, right next to stairs heading up to the second level apartments. I made my way into apartment 3A. The door closed behind me ever so gingerly as Donny secured it. It was a small garden style apartment. As you entered there was a living room to your right that faced the street. A small galley style kitchen was off to the left with very dated appliances. Two doors on the opposite side were for a bathroom and bedroom. I smelled something horrible that I couldn’t make out for sure. Either it was bad Chinese or body odor.
In A Small Town (A Small Town Series Book 1) Page 8
