Murder Has Consequences

by Giammatteo, Giacomo

  “Good coffee, Angie. And no, I don’t think it was random. Somebody planned this.”

  “Are you ignoring me, Dad?”

  “I would never ignore you, sweetheart. I’m just allowing time for your wisdom to sink in.”

  Rosa laughed. “So you’re saying that whoever did it planned to make it look like Bugs?”

  “I call him ‘Bugs.’ He’s Mr. Donovan or Uncle Frankie to you.”

  “I like ‘Uncle Mario’ better.”

  “If Bugs hears you call him Mario he might kick your ass.” I sipped more coffee and shook my head. “Besides, the whole thing could have been coincidence, with Bobby being killed the night he and Frankie fought.”

  Rosa finished her meal and took the plate to the sink, where she rinsed it. “I thought you didn’t believe in coincidences.”

  “I don’t, but sometimes they happen.”

  Rosa washed her plate, dried it, and put it away. “I went to Casapulla’s the other night and Marty wasn’t there.”

  “I thought you weren’t seeing your stepfather anymore.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject, Dad. You know I met him on Thursday nights and he always showed.” She turned her head to look at Angie, then back at me. “And he doesn’t answer his phone, and yesterday I called his work.” Tears came now. “They said he hasn’t been to work all week.” She looked as if she was going to break down. “Did you…do something to him? Did you…”

  “What, kill him? Is that what you want to ask me?” I was pissed. “No, Rosa, as much as I wanted to, I didn’t.”

  “Where is he? Or is this another coincidence—you show up and Marty disappears?”

  I took my plate to the sink to clean it, but I really wanted to smash it. “No coincidence. I suggested that Marty leave town. And I suggested he never come back.”

  “Who gave you the right—”

  Angie slammed both hands on the counter. “That’s enough! This conversation is over.”

  “Mom—”

  Angie spun toward Rosa. Her face carried all her anger. “Over. Do you hear me? This conversation is over.”

  Rosa lowered her head. “Sorry.”

  “Tell your father that, not me.”

  Rosa turned to me, her head still lowered. “Sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean it.”

  I pulled her to me and we hugged. “I’m sorry too. I should have told you first.” I held her tightly. “Get ready for school. We’ll talk later.”

  Angie looked at the clock and panicked. “My God, look what time it is.” She undid her apron and tossed it on the counter. “I can’t afford to be late, not the way they’re cutting people down at the plant.”

  She grabbed her purse and ran for the door. “You, too, Nicky, you better get going.”

  “I’ll drive Rosa.”

  She ran back and pecked my cheek. “Thanks. I love you.”

  “Love you too, babe. See you tonight.”

  I drove Rosa to school, apologizing again to her, then kissed her goodbye. “Have a great day. See you tonight.”

  “You too, Dad. Bye.”

  After that, I hit the job on Front Street, another one on South Market, then back to the office to finish a few bids. I was in a groove and the numbers were all working. I got done far earlier than I expected. I told the boss I’d catch some measurements on a site we had just started, then I headed out, stopping at Teddy’s on the way. Fred was there, and three of the regulars who had been there the night in question.

  I left with a frown on my face. Everyone told me the same story—Bobby insulted Frankie’s sister and mom, then Frankie kicked his ass and threatened to kill him. Things didn’t look good for Bugs.

  From Teddy’s I went to the site. The work went quickly, and I had almost two hours before the end of the day. I decided to surprise Rosa by taking her to Casapulla’s. Maybe she and I could start a tradition like she had with Marty. I turned down Union Street, then left on Front Street, right on Dupont, and headed home to Beech.

  I got out of the car whistling a happy tune, then bounced up the steps to the door and into the house, eager to see Rosa. As I opened the door I nearly fell over. Rosa was on the sofa, a boy on top of her with his hand under her blouse, groping her. I bolted across the room, yanked him up by his hair and reared my fist back.

  Rosa jumped up, screaming. “No, Dad. Please don’t hurt him. Please?” Tears were already flowing.

  The boy was trembling. I wanted nothing more than to beat his fucking brains out, but all I could hear was Rosa’s pleading.

  “Please, Dad?”

  I looked at the boy. He was maybe fifteen, and scared shitless. “I’m sorry, Mr. Fusco. Really, really sorry.”

  “Shut the hell up.”

  He grabbed his stuff to go, but I stopped him. “Sit the fuck down.”

  “Dad!”

  She never heard me say that in front of her, though I knew she’d heard it many times from others, probably even said it herself. I pointed my finger at her. “You sit down too.”

  I paced the room, mumbling. “Goddamn idiots. You’re nothing but kids.”

  “Dad, you and Mom—”

  I moved to stand in front of her. “You don’t know shit about your mother and me, so don’t bring it up. In fact, don’t say a goddamn word until I tell you to.”

  The boy hadn’t breathed since I came in. I’m sure I was a scary sight. I know what I wanted to do to him, and I’m certain it showed. “What’s your name?”

  He stood, as if he were in class being called on. “Mike Riley, sir.”

  “Mike Riley? A goddamn mick.”

  He looked at me, confused.

  Rosa managed a straight face, though she looked as if she was restraining a laugh. “I don’t think he knows what a mick is.”

  Now I was confused. “What do you mean? He’s Irish.”

  “Kids nowadays don’t know that stuff. Nobody says things like that anymore.”

  Jesus Christ, no wonder the world is falling apart. “All right, Mike Riley, I’m not going to kill you today…”

  He let out a deep breath.

  “But don’t get excited,” I said. “I might kill you tomorrow when this all sinks in.”

  He smiled. “Yes, sir.” Then he stared me in the eyes. “Sir, I really love Rosa. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

  I still wanted to smack this kid, but now I wanted to hug him too. It took guts for him to say that. I opted for the hug, pulling him close. “Okay, kid. What you just did saved your ass. And it might even buy you a sub sometime in the future.”

  His face lit up. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  I got serious again. “But right now, you need to get out of my house because I don’t trust my temper with you here.”

  His eyes went wide and he gulped. “Yes, sir.” He bolted for the door in what I called a controlled panic, not even bothering to say goodbye to Rosa.

  I closed the door and turned to Rosa, but she had vanished—to her room, I felt sure—and it would likely be at least a day until I saw her again. That was okay. I was too pissed off to be rational. I might say things I didn’t mean, and I’d done enough of that in my life.

  As I worked on calming down, I decided to go ahead and get subs for dinner after all. Angie would be tired, so it would be a nice break for her; besides, once you’ve got your mind set on eating subs it’s tough as hell to move on to something else. I got in the car and drove to Casapulla’s, not more than ten minutes away, and ordered three large Italians with sweet and hot peppers, and extra provolone on mine. I grabbed some chips, a few drinks, paid, and headed home.

  In the first thirty seconds of the ten minutes it took me to get home, I decided I wouldn’t tell Angie about this afternoon with Rosa and her friend. No sense in giving her more to worry about. That left my mind free to think about Frankie’s situation, and who killed Bobby. Bugs said to focus on the money, and the more I thought about that, the more I realized that if anyone had gotten fifty grand illegally—and this was def
initely illegal—then Doggs Caputo either had something to do with it, or he’d know something about it. I smiled. Now I had a link to follow. After dinner, I’d go see Doggs. He knew something; I just had to convince him to talk.

  CHAPTER 26

  Favors and Old Friends

  Wilmington, Delaware

  I walked to the smoke shop. It wasn’t that far and I needed the exercise. That large sub weighed heavy on me and Angie was making mushroom ravioli tomorrow. Despite my vow to lose a few pounds, there was no way I wasn’t going to stuff my gut when she made mushroom ravioli. Sometimes I swore that Mamma Rosa left a little piece of her inside Angie when she died, and nothing pleased me more.

  After a few blocks I hit Union Street and headed north, watching the drivers, impatient as they endured the traffic. I never understood that. They knew there’d be traffic every day to and from work, so why did they let it bother them? Another mystery for what had become life for a lot of people. As I crossed Front Street I thought about the days when this place was crowded with people, and everybody walking. Back then a lot of families only had one car and people walked more. I’m sure that’s what kept some of the pounds off.

  Another couple of minutes and I was at the smoke shop. Jimmy the Gem was watching the front.

  “Hey, Jimmy. I need to see Doggs. He around?”

  He looked at me funny, but he nodded and headed for the back room. “Watch the front for me. Be right back.”

  I waited for Doggs to come out. It only took about half a minute. He was grumpy as usual, cursing at anything that moved—or didn’t move.

  He lowered his head and stared over the top of his thick glasses.”What the fuck do you want, Rat? I’m a busy man.”

  “I figured if anyone knew the answers to what I need, it would be you, Doggs.”

  He looked around the shop, a ten-by-ten hole with a not-so-secret door at the back, and spread his hands in amazement. “What the fuck, I’m a fuckin’ mind reader now? Answers to what?”

  I knew a barrage of ‘F’s’ would soon be flying from Doggs’ mouth. Some things never change. He still used the ‘f’ word as punctuation. “I needed to talk in private. That’s why I asked you out here.” I turned toward the door. “Can we step outside a minute?”

  He threw his hands up in the air. “What the fuck. I got a fuckin’ game going on. This better be good.” He followed me out the door and immediately lit a smoke.

  I knew I had little time so spit it right out. “What can you tell me about Bobby Campisi?”

  Doggs tossed his newly-lit cigarette into the street and got right in my face. “Bobby Campisi? He’s fuckin’ dead. How’s that for news?”

  As we were talking, Charlie Knuckles came up. He stopped to listen. It was too late for me to worry about privacy, so I continued. “I know he’s dead. I need to know what got him killed. Who wanted him dead, and where did he get all that money?”

  “What the fuck? You a fuckin’ cop now? First Bugs and now you? The only fuckin’ one of you who was any good got killed.” He nodded his head. “Tony was a good man. Good earner.”

  I was pissed off and ready to hit Doggs, but I held my temper. “So that’s how it’s going to be? All these years—”

  “Fuck you and your years, and fuck you and your friend Bugs.” He pushed past Knuckles and went back inside. “No need for you to come back here, Nicky. You’re not welcome.”

  Knuckles looked at me. “Yeah, who the fuck are you?” But as the door shut, Knuckles leaned close and whispered, “See me tomorrow night, late.”

  I turned and walked back down Union Street, discouraged and upset. All of these years I assumed Doggs was a friend. Now I realized he used me like he did everyone else. Funny how that happens. I saw him using the other people, but always thought I was the exception. Stupid fuck is what I was.

  After a few more blocks of bashing myself, and thinking what a waste of time this was, I realized I learned something important. When I mentioned “all the money,” Doggs hadn’t raised an eyebrow. And if anything raised his bushy eyebrows, it was talk of money. That meant he knew Bobby had money, which told me Doggs was involved. All I had to do was find out how.

  Maybe Knuckles will know.

  The next day seemed longer than usual, but I got off work on time and hurried home. The smell of red sauce hit me as I opened the door. “I’m home.”

  I heard dishes rattling in the kitchen. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you last night. How did it go with Doggs?”

  I hugged Angie from behind, careful not to disturb her cooking. “Like shit. He was a prick.”

  “It’s about time you realized that. He’s always been that way.”

  I pecked her cheek and stepped back, opening the fridge to get some water. “How is it you know all of these things, and I don’t?”

  “Because I’m smarter than you,” she said. Then, “Why don’t you set the table.”

  I grabbed plates and silverware and placed them in the appropriate places, knowing it would be my ass if I didn’t, then got napkins and glasses. “No wine?”

  “We’re out,” Angie said. “And we don’t have the money to get more until Friday. You’ll have to suffer.”

  I stared at the cabinet, trying to figure out how Jesus did that trick with the water, then opted for going next door instead. “I’ll see if Pete has any. I can’t have ravioli without wine.”

  “If you’re going to ask Pete for wine, at least invite them for dinner.”

  Pete and Rita joined us for dinner, then we played pinochle until about nine, although Rosa retired to her room as soon as she finished the dishes. When the neighbors left, Angie yawned and said she was going to bed.

  “Are you coming up?”

  “I gotta see someone tonight.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her stance changed. “See someone?” She looked at the clock. “At this time of night? Who, and for what?”

  At first I didn’t say anything, but then I owned up. “Knuckles. It’s about—”

  “Nicky, don’t be doing something to get in trouble.”

  “He might have some leads about Bugs.”

  “How long are you going to keep this up? We’ve got a life to live.”

  I got a little pissed at that, and I’m sure my tone reflected that. “It’s not like Bugs didn’t risk his career to save my ass.” I stood up to face her. “Remember what I told you.”

  She didn’t say anything, just looked at me, but I stared right back at her. “No way I’m leaving him on a limb. No way.”

  She stood there for what seemed like an hour, but it was probably only a few seconds before she went to bed, her feet hitting the stairs a little harder than usual. “I’ll be asleep when you get home.” Her tone carried a warning.

  I sat in my chair in the living room and read a little, waiting for the right time. Knuckles said “late,” and I knew late meant at least midnight. I had to work the next day, but I figured I could suffer through a day of estimating with sleep in my eyes. I just hoped the numbers weren’t off or I’d get my ass fired. Besides, this information would likely be valuable; Knuckles wouldn’t have me come by for nothing.

  About 11:45, I got up and went outside. I pulled out the keys and hit the remote, unlocking the door to the car. As I went down the few steps to the sidewalk, then down the next set to the street, I decided to walk instead of driving. It was a nice night with the breeze kicking the trees around a little. I always liked that sound.

  I headed up Beech Street to Clayton, reminded of the old days when Bugs and Paulie and Tony and I would come this way after working the games. We’d be pumped with money, and high on energy and the thrill of being out late. There wasn’t much more exciting when you were a kid than roaming the streets at night, and the later the better. I smiled at the memories. Back then we owned this neighborhood, and we knew every shortcut and every hiding place within a square mile or more.

  Within fifteen minutes I got to Knuckles’ house and tapped on the door. When
he answered he checked the street both ways, as if I might have been followed. I thought that was strange, but said nothing. “Hey, Knucks, how’s it going?”

  “Good, Rat. How about you?” He stepped aside and invited me in. “Want a drink?”

  “Too late for that. I’m a working man.”

  He laughed. “So I heard. Estimator, right? How’s that going?”

  “It keeps me out of jail.”

  Another laugh, but this one was fake. “Ain’t it the truth.” He grabbed a beer for himself and sat in a big recliner. He grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. “So what else you been doing? Any other work besides estimating?”

  “Just helping Angie with things.” I was starting to wonder why he asked me here, so I pushed the conversation my way. “What’s up? You got information for me?”

  “Information? Yeah, I got information, but if I’m doing you this favor, maybe you could help me out some.” Knuckles offered me a seat on the sofa, which I took, then he pushed an ottoman aside and plopped into a chair next to me.

  “Sure. What do you need?” I asked.

  “I got a little problem up in Philly with a guy.”

  The hair on the back of my neck rose, tickled my skin. “What kind of problem?”

  He shrugged as if it were nothing. “Some guy up there is into me pretty deep and it’s causing me trouble.”

  I let his words hang in the air. Knuckles never asked me to do anything like this before. He obviously heard rumors about what happened in New York. “I don’t do shit like that. I’m an estimator. I don’t collect.”

  Knuckles brought the recliner up to a straight position, and then handed me a smoke, which I refused, but as he lit his, he stared at me through the top of his glasses. “I’m not asking you to collect. I need an example made of this fucker. If I don’t do something, everybody up there will think they can stiff me.”

  I stood and held up my hands. “Whoa, Knucks. You’ve got me wrong. That’s not me.”

  He stood when I did, then walked right up to me, almost touching me. “Don’t play that shit with me. I know what you did up north. What, you don’t think we heard about that down here? What the fuck’s wrong with you? You stupid?”