Double Espresso (A Loretta Kovacs thriller)

by Anthony Bruno

  She rolled down the window again and reached out for the receiver, dialing Marvelli’s cell phone number.

  “Hello?” Marvelli said.

  “Officer Marvelli? Veronica Springer.”

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  She was digging into the upholstery again. “Listen, would you do me a favor? I’m on my way, but would you order lunch for me? I’m on a tight schedule.”

  “Sure. What do you want?”

  “A turkey burger, no bun, some cottage cheese, and whatever fruit they have.”

  “Anything to drink?”

  “Just water.”

  “You got it.”

  “Thanks.”

  She put the receiver back on the hook, then looked down at her other hand on the seat. There was blue fuzz under her fingernails and deep gouges in the velveteen next to her thigh.

  5

  “Who was that?” Loretta asked as Marvelli put the cell phone back in his pocket. She was sitting opposite him in a booth.

  Marvelli started sprinkling salt on the meat-loaf special. “That was Agent Springer,” he said. “She wants me to order lunch for her. She says she’s on a tight schedule.”

  Marvelli raised a finger to catch the eye of a passing waitress, one of the five Roses. “Rosie,” he said, “you don’t do turkey burgers, do you?”

  The woman tilted her head up and down until she had Marvelli focused in the right part of her trifocals. She had pencils stuck in her puffy hair on both sides of her head. “Turkey burgers? Are you kidding me?”

  “I didn’t think so,” Marvelli said. “Just give me a regular burger on a plate—well-done, no bun—a scoop of cottage cheese, and whatever fruit you’ve got.”

  The waitress shook her head. “All’s I got is cling peaches in the can and fruit cocktail in cherry Jell-O.”

  Marvelli shrugged. “I dunno. The Jell-O, I guess. If she doesn’t eat it, I will.”

  “Okay. You got it.” The waitress hurried back toward the kitchen.

  “And put that on a separate check,” Loretta called after her. She wasn’t about to start treating feds to lunch.

  Marvelli was digging into his meat-loaf special, cutting into the slab of meat with the side of his fork. She was happy to see him eating and even happier that he was planning to eat Agent Springer’s Jell-O if she left it. The bottomless pit was open for business again. Marvelli was coming out of it.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking,” he said with his mouth full. “Julius is all wrong. We gotta get out there and start looking for Sammy ourselves. Sammy’s nuts. I know him. He’ll figure out a way to get to Rispoli. We can’t just sit on our hands with this.”

  “We?” Loretta was trying to be nonchalant as she tore open a Parker House roll.

  “Yeah, we should both be out there,” he said. “I know what he’s like, but he knows my face. I need someone else to be the point man.”

  She stared at him from under her arched brows.

  “Or point woman,” he corrected himself. “Whatever.”

  “But where do we start? If we can’t find out where Rispoli is, how do we find Sammy?”

  “I’ve got a few ideas,” he said as he scooped up a drippy forkful of creamed spinach. “With a little luck I think we can find him. I really do. I’m gonna tell Julius that I think he should approve a few overnights for us. Let us at least try.”

  Loretta nodded as she ate, trying to be noncommittal, but inside she was a Rockette doing high kicks to the ceiling. Overnights, she thought. That’s all they needed. A couple of overnights. It would be good for both of them. He needed to realize that his wife wasn’t the only woman in the world, and she had to break her celibacy streak. Being horny for year-long periods was not good for your health, she’d decided. If she and Marvelli got together for a little romance, it would be therapeutic. It didn’t have to be hot and heavy. She wasn’t looking for commitment. Just a little dose of hugging and kissing and … whatever. It would be good for them. “There she is,” Marvelli suddenly said, nodding toward the cash register. “Agent Springer.”

  Loretta turned around and saw a petite blonde in a navy blazer standing by the cash register, eyeing the crowd. She had extremely light blue eyes.

  Soccer mom, Loretta thought. She imagined Springer living in some tidy little suburb, driving a minivan, and wearing holiday theme sweaters that went with the seasons—rows of pumpkins across her chest in October, Pilgrims in November, reindeer in December, hearts and flowers in February.

  Marvelli waved to the woman. She nodded and flashed what probably passed for a smile at the Bureau as she came over to their booth.

  “Officer Marvelli,” she said, extending her hand. “Good to meet you.”

  “Hi, how you doing?” Marvelli put down his fork and shook her hand. “This is Loretta Kovacs. We work together at the Jump Squad.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Agent Springer said.

  “You, too.” Loretta shook her hand. It was ice cold and bony.

  Marvelli shoved over and made room for Springer in the booth. “Have a seat. I put in your order. It should be coming right out.”

  Loretta didn’t like the way Marvelli was looking at her. He was trying too hard to be cordial. Why? Did he forget that she was a fed?

  Springer glanced down at their plates. Her expression was neutral, but Loretta could just guess what a cottage-cheese eater thought of mashed potatoes and gravy.

  One of the other Roses—this one was a little older and more lined than the Rose who’d taken the order from Marvelli—arrived with Springer’s lunch, setting the plate down in front of her. Springer examined the contents with clinical detachment, as if it were an autopsy specimen.

  “Anything to drink, hon?” the new Rose asked.

  “Just water, please,” Springer said curtly.

  When the waitress left, Springer scrutinized the block of Jell-O wiggling between the burger and the cottage cheese.

  “It was either Jell-O or cling peaches,” Marvelli explained. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” Springer said as she looked around for the waitress. “I’m not that hungry. But I could use some water.”

  Marvelli speared another piece of meat loaf. “So you’ve changed your mind about my brother-in-law?”

  “I made some inquiries about Teitelbaum,” she said. “Apparently he is known in the Luccarelli family, and he had been associating with members of Taffy Demaggio’s crew before he went to prison. It’s possible that Demaggio could have hired him to kill Rispoli.”

  Marvelli sucked on the straw in his root beer. “Yeah, but could he really find My Blue Heaven?”

  Springer didn’t say anything for a second. She was looking around for the waitress again. Loretta noticed that she had her hand in the side pocket of her blazer.

  “Who told you about My Blue Heaven?” There was a note of skeptical amusement in Springer’s voice as if she were prepared to deny its existence, the way the marshals had.

  “Everybody knows about My Blue Heaven,” Loretta said. She had put down her fork and was leaning on her elbows, waiting for Springer to start eating before she continued with her own meal.

  “Look, let’s not focus on My Blue Heaven,” Springer said. “That facility is very secure and very well hidden. Instead, let’s focus on Mr. Teitelbaum. How good is he? Is he that extraordinary at his trade that he could realistically get to Mr. Rispoli?”

  “I don’t know how skilled he is,” Marvelli said, “but he is reckless, and he doesn’t give a damn about his own safety. He’s a kamikaze.”

  Loretta noticed that the hand Springer had had in her pocket was now a closed fist on the table.

  Springer was frowning. “This concerns me. Rispoli doesn’t spend all his time at My Blue Heaven. We take him out fairly frequently for court appearances. That’s when he’d be vulnerable.”

  Yet another one of the Roses came by with a glass of water. “Who gets the water?” she asked.

  “Here,” Springer said.
She reached for the glass and took a sip. The closed hand went to her mouth, and she took a second sip. She set down the glass but didn’t make any moves toward her lunch.

  Diet pills, Loretta thought. Agent Springer’s on diet pills. She’s waiting for them to kick in, so she won’t eat so much. Loretta knew that trick all too well. It never seemed to work for her, though.

  Agent Springer started playing with her spoon, rocking it back and forth on the tabletop between her thumb and pinkie. “Rispoli’s security is my responsibility whenever he’s in this area. Naturally, I’d want to know if there were a bona fide contract out on his head. That’s why I think it would be in both our interests if we shared information in this matter.” She was looking at Marvelli, addressing all her comments to him.

  Loretta dug a trough in her mashed potatoes and watched the pool of gravy on top flow out. She wanted to eat, but now she felt self-conscious.

  Marvelli was grinning. “Share information, huh? Correct me if I’m wrong, Agent Springer, but according to Bureau rules, ‘share’ means we tell you what we know, but you only tell us what you want us to know.”

  Springer shook her head. “Absolutely not. I’m sure you’ve heard all kinds of stories about feds who have screwed local law-enforcement personnel—and I admit, it has happened—but I don’t work that way. The way I see it, it’s a simple equation. You want to find Mr. Teitelbaum; I want to keep Mr. Rispoli alive. In the process of pursuing those goals, I may discover things that would be helpful to you, and you may discover things that would be helpful to me. All I’m suggesting is that we keep each other informed.”

  Marvelli sucked on his straw again and nodded. “Sounds fair.”

  Dummy, Loretta thought. She finally speared a piece of meat loaf and started chewing with a scowl on her face. Why was Marvelli being so patient with Springer? He’s knows better than to trust a feebie. Or was it her big blue eyes and her cute little figure? God, men are dopes.

  Suddenly Agent Springer dabbed her mouth with a napkin and slid out of the booth even though she’d hardly eaten a thing. “I have to get going,” she said, pulling a pair of sunglasses out of her breast pocket. She flashed a tight smile and nodded to Loretta. “Nice meeting you.” Her smile was wider for Marvelli. “Let’s stay in touch, okay?” She went into her pocket and laid a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “My treat,” she said. “I’ll be talking to you.”

  Loretta watched her walking toward the front door. She wanted Springer to have a big butt or thick ankles, but she didn’t.

  Marvelli was sopping up gravy with his Parker House roll. “She seemed okay,” he said.

  “You think so, huh?”

  “You don’t like her?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Did you see her popping those pills?”

  “She was popping pills?”

  “Yup.”

  “Maybe they were aspirin.” Marvelli was craning his neck to peruse what was left on Springer’s plate. “You want to split her Jell-O? She didn’t touch it.”

  “No thanks.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. You go right ahead.”

  “Okay.” He balanced the block of red Jell-O on his fork and plopped it onto his bread plate. He cut it into quarters and shoveled a piece into his mouth. “Not bad,” he said with his mouth full.

  Loretta just glared at him. Springer seems okay, she thought sarcastically, remembering his words. What a dope.

  6

  Sitting behind the wheel of her old cranberry-red Saturn, Loretta squinted and tilted her watch toward the light coming from the fluorescent overheads that barely illuminated the parking garage. Outside her window most of the other spaces were empty. Just nine parked cars were scattered around the floor. She’d been here twenty minutes, and she hadn’t seen a soul. Even the attendant’s booth had been empty when she’d come in and taken a ticket from the automatic dispenser. Loretta had followed Marvelli’s directions and parked in a dim corner to stay out of sight, but where the hell was he? she wanted to know. It was almost one A.M., and she was getting cold sitting here.

  Marvelli had called her earlier that evening. She had been looking through a new law-school brochure that had come in the mail that day, one of the ones her sister Bonnie had ordered, when the phone rang. “Loretta, it’s me,” he’d said. “What’re you doing?”

  Instantly she got her hopes up, but she realized just as quickly that she was jumping to conclusions. “Not much,” she said. “Just reading.”

  “Listen. There’s a parking garage on Bergen Avenue in Jersey City called Park and Go. It’s just south of Journal Square. Meet me on the fourth floor between twelve-thirty and one.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah. I’m meeting someone who may help us find Sammy.”

  She’d stared down at the holes in her Acorn sox. “Why do you want me to go? Officially I’m not on this case.”

  “Well, yeah, but I thought you were interested in doing this one with me.”

  “What about Julius? Did he say he wants both of us on it?”

  “Just meet me there. I’ll fix it with Julius.”

  She was thrilled that he wanted to include her, but she had some misgivings about this mysterious late-night rendezvous in a parking garage. “So who are we meeting?” she asked

  “Not on the phone,” he said, lowering his voice. “Just meet me there. And park in a dark corner.” He hung up, leaving her with a dial tone in her ear.

  So where the hell is he now? she thought, clamping her armpits over her cold fingers as she stared out the windshield.

  She wished she had a hot cup of coffee and not just for the warmth. Life without caffeine was getting to be a drag. She’d graduated from the fuzzy-headed stage to the cranky jitters. Not that she needed any help being cranky.

  Her mind started to wander, and her lust for a cup of coffee reminded her of restaurants and diners, and that reminded her of the Five Roses Diner, which in turn reminded her of Special Agent Veronica Springer and the way Marvelli had been with her. She wondered if Marvelli found her attractive. Springer wasn’t a dog, but she wasn’t exactly someone you’d want to cuddle with. And she was a pill popper. How could he find her attractive? If he did find her attractive.

  Loretta was blowing on her fingers when she suddenly heard a soft thunk coming from the other side of the garage. She froze and listened. After a few seconds she heard a distant ding. The elevator, she thought. Marvelli took the elevator? Why would he do that?

  She watched for him to come down the slope of the concrete floor, listened for his footsteps, but there was nothing. A chill traveled down her arms and through her stomach. She couldn’t see the elevators from where she was parked. Thick concrete supports in the middle of the floor blocked her view. Someone was hiding behind those supports, she kept thinking. Someone who’d seen her come in by herself. Someone who wasn’t Marvelli.

  She reached for her purse and pulled out her .38, quickly flipping open the cylinder to check her load even though she knew it was full. Then she reached into the backseat and pulled her “inflatable friend” up front. The blow-up dummy had a placid but masculine face, a weird orangy complexion, and he wore a gray business suit that fit him like a paint job. Her mother had given it to her for protection, so that it would look like someone was always driving with her. Loretta sometimes left him behind the wheel when she had to park in an unfamiliar neighborhood after dark.

  He was looking a little saggy, so she quickly opened the plug at the small of his back and blew him up a little. Plastic oral sex, she thought as she exhaled. About as close as I come to the real thing these days.

  She closed the plug with her tongue and quietly opened her door, staying low as she stepped out, and pulled her “friend” behind the wheel. She closed the door softly, nudging it shut with her hip. Again she stopped and listened. The garage was silent, but she sensed that someone was out there.

 
; She moved around to the back of the car where the shadows were darker and strained to get a better view of the massive support columns, but they were at least three feet wide. Someone could easily be hiding behind one of them.

  Ten parking spaces away, three cars were parked in a row—two dark-colored sedans and an old cream-colored station wagon. If she could get behind those cars, she could see what was behind the support columns. But to get there, she’d have to move out into the open.

  She pressed her lips together, trying to think of another way to get there. A knee-high metal pipe barricade ran the length of the garage along the outside wall. Beyond the barricade were open windows, two feet wide and ten feet tall. A high cyclone fence kept the curious and the stupid from having an accidental fall, but in the corner the fence had been pulled away from its post, leaving enough room for someone to squeeze through.

  Loretta got down on her knees, crawled to the corner, and carefully pried the fence up, poking her head through. A six-inch ledge ran under all the windows on the outside of the building. She could hold on to the fence and step sideways along the ledge until she got to a window that gave her a better view. There was just one problem—the distance between the windows. She’d only have sheer wall to hang on to for the five or six feet between the windows. Not good, she thought.

  Suddenly the scrape of shoe leather on concrete echoed through the garage, and Loretta froze, not daring to even breathe. Someone was definitely out there. Maybe more than one someone. She couldn’t stay where she was.

  She slowly pulled back the cyclone fence and crawled through the opening on her hands and knees, frowning at the encrusted pigeon droppings and gooey grime that was getting on her palms. The air was chilly, but there was no wind, thank God. Still, it was four stories down to a pitch-black alley below, and even though Loretta wasn’t afraid of heights, her balance was only so-so, and she had never been terribly surefooted.

  The sound of quick footsteps reverberated off the concrete walls. Loretta imagined whoever-it-was moving his position, ducking behind another support, and coming closer. She could not stay there, she thought. She had to get a better vantage point, so she could use her gun to hold the intruder at bay. But she had to go out on the ledge to do that, and she was going to need both hands to hold on to the fence. She tried to stick the .38 into the waistband of her jeans, but it was too uncomfortable against her skin. Her fleece pullover didn’t have any pockets, and she didn’t want to try sticking the gun in her jeans at the small of her back for fear that it would pop out and fall into the alley. In desperation she un-cocked the hammer and put it in her mouth, clamping the wood-grain butt between her teeth. It tasted horrible, and the smell of gun oil was enough to make her gag, but she had no choice.