Murder Has Consequences

by Giammatteo, Giacomo

  She worried during the ride on the subway and for the ten minutes it took her to walk home. By the time she got to the apartment she was in complete panic. She burst through the door, tears flowing before she reached the kitchen. God only knew what this maniac would do to her, and her mother.

  “Tom, where are you?”

  A sound from the bedroom drew her in that direction. She flung open the door. “Tom, something terrible happ—” She stopped cold with a gasp.

  A young girl lay on the bed. She looked to be no more than a teenager, with the nothing-but-ribs figure a lot of young girls had nowadays.

  “What are you doing?” she screamed at Tom.

  The girl looked as if she might scream too, but Tom glared at the girl, and she went mute. Then he got off her and approached Lisa, walking to her slowly from the bed to where she was. He was naked, as was the girl, and she didn’t move to cover up.

  Tom smacked Lisa, hard, across the cheek. “Don’t you knock? Doesn’t a man have privacy in his own home?”

  Lisa recovered from the hit and straightened herself. “What are you doing to her? Who is she?” Lisa walked closer to the bed, staring. “For God’s sake, she’s just a kid.”

  He smacked at Lisa again, but she raised her hands to protect her face. “She’s twenty,” Tom said, “but what difference does it make? How many men did you fuck in this bed while I was gone? Huh?” Tom raised his hand, and Lisa cringed.

  “Go make us coffee—and be quick about it.”

  Lisa stood in the doorway, watching as Tom started back to the bed. The girl was up and getting dressed. Tom grabbed her by the hair and yanked her toward him. “Did I tell you to leave? Did I?”

  The girl shook her head, eyes wide.

  “Then do what you’re best at,” Tom said.

  Lisa left the room, slamming the door.

  I have got to get out of here.

  CHAPTER 24

  Bugs Returns

  Brooklyn, New York

  Frankie jumped on the interstate and headed east across the Delaware Memorial Bridge, then north on #295 to the Jersey Turnpike. It wouldn’t take long to get back to Brooklyn, less than three hours even if he hit traffic. That should give him plenty of time to figure things out, maybe decide how to get rid of the baggage in his life and get back to the happy person he used to be.

  One thing that made Frankie happy was Nicky agreeing to take on his case. Not that Nicky would solve it, but the fact that he agreed to try told Frankie that Nicky really was innocent—at least of killing Bobby. No way Nicky would leave Frankie out to hang if he’d done it. That, at least, was something.

  Happiness was a funny thing. People were either born to it, or not. Nicky was happy, yet if anyone had a legitimate reason not to be it would be him. A black cloud had followed Nicky all his life, but he kept a good attitude, always found a silver lining.

  He learned that from Mamma Rosa, Frankie thought, and wondered why her own son never did. Tony had everything a kid could want in life, yet he was miserable. It killed him in the end, his misery did. Frankie laughed when he thought about Paulie Perlano; he’d been happy too. Damn near exuberant. Far happier than Frankie would have been growing up in a row house with eleven kids.

  As Frankie drove up the interstate he had an urge to veer off and meander through the Pine Barrens, forget about murders and funerals, and family problems…but, he had things to do, and Lieutenant Morreau would be throwing a fit by now.

  Mazzetti, too. He’s probably cursing me right now.

  Frankie got onto the Jersey Turnpike and continued north, fighting the ever-present traffic and trying not to be pissed.

  Images from fun times as kids flashed through his mind, like when he and Nicky were running from the cops and ducked into the church to hide. Once inside, they walked as fast as they could to the stairs, ran down the steps and out the back door, then hid in the bushes by the convent. Escaping the cop made their whole day worthwhile, even worth the beating from Sister Theresa when she caught them in her garden.

  Frankie tapped the brakes, slowing to what seemed like a crawl but it was only down to about fifty, and that was good for the turnpike. He took his time, thinking about everything but his family. The past week had worn on him, and not just because his dad died. Learning more about his mother and her past sins seemed more of an issue than his dad’s death. It was horrible to think that, but it was true. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t shake this feeling of…shame…now that he knew about his mother.

  A car in front of him stopped suddenly. Frankie swerved to avoid hitting it. “Goddamn idiot.” Frankie pulled onto the shoulder, then turned back into traffic as it picked up. He slammed his hand into the steering wheel. “Focus, Frankie. Goddamnit, focus.”

  If there was anything he should be worrying about, it was the mess he left behind in Wilmington. Borelli sure as shit wanted him for Bobby’s murder, and the evidence supported that, at least the evidence Frankie knew of. Anything else they’d found, he wasn’t privy to.

  I sure as hell hope Nicky finds something.

  Frankie dialed Kate’s number, letting it ring through to voice mail.

  “This is Kate Burns. If you got this message it means I’m out looking at cadavers. Leave a number, and I’ll call you back.”

  Frankie laughed. Kate was one-of-a-kind. “Kate, it’s Frankie, and I got a body you can look at. I’m on my way back. How about dinner? Call me.”

  He hung up and called Lou, but got his voicemail.

  “You’ve reached Detective Lou Mazzetti. Leave a message. I’ll get back to you right away. Maybe.”

  “Lou, it’s me. Call.”

  Frankie drove for ten or fifteen more minutes, and decided to call Shawna. He owed her an apology for rushing out without telling her anything. He dialed her cell.

  “Shawna Pavic.”

  “Shawna, it’s Frankie. How’s it going?”

  “Where are you?”

  “On my way back…and sorry for the quick exit and no communication, but my dad passed away and—”

  “No need to explain.” She let a pause build. “You up for dinner?”

  He almost jumped on the invitation and said yes, thoughts of what might happen after dinner racing through his mind. Images of Shawna naked on his bed and her pert little ass… but then he thought of Kate.

  What if she calls?

  “I’d like to, but I’m just getting back, and Lou tells me this case is a mess. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” He breathed deep, glad he managed to get that out. “Sorry. We’ll make it another night.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She seemed to switch gears then, from Shawna the horny ex-wife of a banker to Shawna the reporter. “So what is going on with this case? Any news for me?”

  “Nothing I can share. You’ll get yours along with everyone else. Don’t worry.”

  “Come on, Donovan. I need help here. I’m fighting Channel five with their cutesy little Cindy Ellis.”

  “What’s so special about her?”

  “Didn’t Mazzetti fill you in? She got a call from the killer, or at least what we assume is the killer, telling her there will be a lot more bodies.”

  “What? When?”

  “Few days ago.”

  She waited through the silence, then, “Come on, Frankie.”

  “I feel sorry for you, kid, but I can’t help. Gotta go now. I need to call Lou.” Frankie punched in Lou’s number. “C’mon, Mazzetti, where are you?”

  “Mazzetti.”

  “Lou, it’s Frankie.”

  “Donovan? I hope you’re on the Brooklyn Bridge or Flatbush Avenue.”

  “Close enough. What’s up?”

  “Trying to figure out who killed the second guy, and we still don’t even know who the first guy is.”

  “Have you done anything since I left?”

  “I’ve got mixed company here, or else I’d tell you what I really think about you and your detective skills.”

  Frankie l
aughed. “All right. Tell Morreau I’m on my way in. Be there in half an hour barring a traffic jam.”

  “Welcome home, Donovan.”

  “You know what, Mazzetti? This is the first time it really feels like home to me, and I don’t even know why.”

  “Yeah, Brooklyn does that to you. Eats you up, but makes you fall in love with it. Sort of like a sexy broad.”

  Frankie laughed. “If I ever start saying shit like that, pull out your .38 and shoot me. Promise?”

  “You got it,” Lou said.

  Before he could hang up, Frankie said, “Have you seen Kate?”

  “Getting horny?”

  “Cut the shit. Have you seen her or not?”

  “Talked to her earlier,” Lou said, “And my partner spoke with her not long ago.”

  Frankie hit the brakes, beeping at the driver in front of him. “Yeah, well tell that temporary partner that the boss is back in town.”

  “She’s not here. I sent her on an errand, personal kind, and besides, she’s not temporary. This one’s a keeper.”

  Frankie’s interest was piqued. “A keeper, huh? Does your wife know?”

  “I tell her every night.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Frankie said. “See you soon. I’m hanging up.”

  It took about forty minutes to get to the station. Frankie went straight to Morreau’s office, where he spent thirty minutes filling Morreau in on the situation in Wilmington.

  “Don’t worry,” Morreau said. “I already had the captain call. Besides, I’m sure they’ll clear this up soon.” He offered Frankie some tea from a pitcher on his desk, but Frankie refused. “You meet Miller yet?”

  “Miller? You mean Lou’s partner? No.”

  Morreau took a big swig from his glass. “She’s good. I think you’ll like her.”

  “So I’m gonna get a chance to like her? Is she staying on the case?”

  “We need all the help we can on this one, and she’s been in on it from the beginning.” Morreau set the glass back on a coaster next to his phone. “Don’t bust her balls, Donovan. I’m warning you.”

  “Does she have balls?”

  Morreau laughed. “Bigger than yours I’d bet.”

  “Guess I won’t bust ’em then,” Frankie said, and stood to leave. “I’m heading home. See you tomorrow.”

  Frankie made his rounds, saying hi to Carol and some of the others in the station, but then he headed out, driving slow to his apartment. It felt good to be home. He pulled onto the street to his apartment and began the search for a parking space. Even the end of the block wasn’t too early to start looking. All the spaces were taken, and he gave up hope as he approached his stoop, but then he saw an empty spot maybe fifty or sixty feet ahead. Alex and Keisha were standing guard, manning two construction cones. They raced to pull them aside.

  “Hey, FD. Good to see you home.” Alex was a neighbor, the son of a drug addict/whore on the floor below Frankie. He was a good kid, though, and he loved Frankie. Always called him FD.

  Frankie pulled into the spot and put the car in park, then got out with a smile on his face. “Hey, guys, I didn’t bring anything for you today so I guess you’ll have to settle for a few bucks.” He reached for his money clip.

  “Put that shit away, old man.” Keisha was a soon-to-be gorgeous young black girl who had a sassy but sweet attitude. “Today’s a gift, but starting tomorrow you gotta pay like everybody else.”

  “Deal,” Frankie said, and hugged both of them. “What happened to your pigtails?”

  “Thought I’d get sexy for you,” she said.

  Frankie got a serious look on his face. “Don’t start that talk so young. You’ve got plenty of time. Say that around the wrong people and…”

  Keisha frowned. “Yeah, I know. I’m screwed.”

  “Screwed for real.” Frankie leaned down and kissed her forehead, then rubbed Alex’s head. Both of them walked with him toward the apartment.

  Alex looked up at him with big dark eyes. “How was it, FD?”

  “How was what?”

  “The funeral?”

  Jesus Christ, how did they know?

  “Not good, Alex, but thanks for asking.” When they hit the stoop, Frankie sat on the top step, reliving his fun times with the two of them. “You guys been keeping a watch for me?”

  “Ronnie’s still dealing dope out of his Lincoln, and Wilma’s still doing tricks every time her mom leaves for work. What else you want to know?”

  Frankie shook his head. Why did he think things would change while he was away, and how the hell did these kids know so much. “I guess that’s enough for today.” He stood. “I’m tired. How about we talk tomorrow.”

  “Fine by me,” Alex said. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll be on the clock.”

  “Send me a bill,” Frankie said, and started up the steps into the building.

  He made it up the stairs with some degree of effort, opened the door to his apartment, and plopped onto the sofa after getting a bottle of water from the fridge. The remote control lay within his reach so he got it and turned on the TV, flipping instinctively to the channel where Shawna worked. The news would be on in a few minutes.

  Sometime during the endless stream of commercials, Frankie fell asleep, his head resting against the back of the sofa. He lay there oblivious to the droning of the anchors until Shawna’s voice woke him. Something about her voice always aroused him, even from sleep.

  “This is a Channel 3 exclusive,” she said.

  Frankie sat up, staring at her and wishing he’d taken her up on the dinner invitation. Dinner with Shawna always led to bed with Shawna and he could use that right now. Her big white teeth seemed to take up half the screen.

  “We have it from the best sources that Detective Frankie Donovan is back in the city and will be assuming the lead on the brutal murders committed by the one known as the ‘chop shop’ killer. If you remember, Frankie was…”

  Frankie popped up, fully alert. “What the fuck?”

  He turned up the volume and lit a smoke, all the sleep gone from his eyes. He hadn’t taken two drags when his cell phone rang. Instinctively, he answered. “Donovan.”

  It was Morreau. “What the fuck is this? Have you seen the news?”

  “Lieu, I don’t know—”

  “You don’t know? How is it that we go a whole fucking week with no leaks, and you’re back in town a few hours and the case is all over the news? And what’s this about a ‘chop shop’ killer? Where the fuck did that come from?”

  Frankie stood, pacing while he talked. “Lieutenant, I don’t know. Not from me.”

  “If I find out you had anything to do with this, it’s your ass, Donovan.”

  “Yes, sir,” Frankie said, and hung up.

  He slammed his fist on the table. “Goddamnit, Shawna.”

  ***

  Tom Jackson surfed the channels, looking for something interesting to watch, eager to see if his exploits were being reported. He stopped at Channel 3 to watch their older, but still cute, answer to Channel 5’s Cindy Ellis.

  “We have it from the best sources that Detective Frankie Donovan is back in the city and will be assuming the lead on the brutal murders committed by the one known as the ‘chop shop’ killer.”

  Tom paused the TV, calling Lisa and the little imp into the room with him. Lisa sat next to him while the girl stood. “Who the fuck is this Donovan guy?” Tom asked, and pushed “play” again.

  Shawna Pavic came back on, her cutesy smile irritating him already. “With Frankie Donovan on the case it shouldn’t be long before the ‘chop shop’ killer is behind bars.”

  “Or dead,” her co-anchor said.

  She laughed. “Right—or dead. Detective Donovan takes no prisoners.”

  Tom muted the television and turned to Lisa. “Who is Frankie Donovan?”

  Lisa shrugged. “Some hero cop. Got famous a while back when there were a bunch of murders in the city. I think he busted some big Mafia guy.”


  “Big fucking deal, a Mafia guy.”

  “It was a big deal,” Lisa said. “This guy—”

  The jolt from Tom’s blow knocked her to the floor. She screamed, hand going to her face, fear filling her eyes.

  “I didn’t mean it. I—”

  Tom got on top of her and shoved his hand over her mouth. “How many times do I have to tell you, if you make noise it only gets worse.” He slapped her across the face then hit her with his fist, making sure his knuckles caught the side of her head where her hair would hide the bruise.

  She whimpered, just like old Beau had done years ago, but she didn’t wail, and she didn’t make any noise.

  Guess I taught her a lesson.

  Tom got back on the sofa and stared at the image of Frankie Donovan they had splashed across the screen.

  Now I might have to teach one to him.

  CHAPTER 25

  Trouble With Kids

  Wilmington, Delaware

  I got home from Teddy’s, later than I wanted to, and crept into bed so I wouldn’t disturb Angie. She was in a deep sleep, breathing calmly. I slid my hands under my pillow and stared at the ceiling. It was so quiet I felt as if I should be able to listen to her heart beat, but all I could hear was her breathing and the click of the clock when the minute hand moved.

  The next thing I knew, Angie was calling me for breakfast. I got up, threw on some shorts, and went to have the morning meal with her and Rosa. “Good morning, ladies. How goes it today?”

  Angie set a plate of eggs and sausage on the table while I poured coffee for the two of us and then took a seat next to her. “Do any good last night?” she asked.

  “I talked to a few people, but they didn’t tell me much more than I already knew.” I looked to Rosa. “Pass the toast, please.”

  “Who could have done it?” Angie asked. “Think it was a random mugging or something?”

  “That happens all the time down in the President's District,” Rosa said. “There were two more shootings on Harrison Street last night.”

  I looked at the counter. “You get the paper already?”

  Rosa sighed. “Google news, Dad. Nobody reads the paper anymore; besides, paper kills trees.”