[Friendship & Honor 02.0] Murder Has Consequences

by Giacomo Giammatteo

  “Frankie!” She threw her arms around him and the bawling began. “I’m so glad you’re here. Mom is a mess. She needs you.”

  Frankie held her close, rubbing her back. “It’s all right, Mary. How are you holding up?”

  “I’m okay, but Mom and Donna are the worst. Even Uncle Donnie can’t calm her down. She keeps asking for you.”

  “I better get inside,” Frankie said. He slid his arm over her shoulder and started up the steps, nodding to one of the neighbors who waved.

  He reinforced his will before entering the house, then he opened the front door and stepped into the living room. The house was the same. A braided throw rug—frayed around the edges—covered most of the room. Hardwood floors which hadn’t been polished in twenty years took up the rest of the space. There wasn’t room for a coffee table, only a sofa, one end table, and two small chairs that flanked an old TV.

  His mother occupied the honorary spot on the sofa, her sisters on each side. Frankie didn’t make it five feet into the living room before his mother jumped up and ran to him, handkerchief in one hand and a rosary in the other.

  “Frankie! God bless you for coming so soon.”

  She threw her arms around him and let herself fall into his embrace. If she had been crying before, it had been nothing to compare with her tears now.

  “He’s gone, Frankie. What will I do without him?”

  Frankie rubbed her back, kissed the top of her head. “You’ll be okay, Mom. We’ll take care of you.”

  As he comforted his mother, his sisters, Donna and Marie, ran to him, tears flowing. They wrapped themselves around him and their mother in a huge ball of tears. Emotion ripped Frankie’s gut apart but he held to his conviction to remain tough for them. There would be plenty of time to cry later. “It’s okay. I’m here now.”

  When he finally escaped their embrace, Frankie headed toward the kitchen to get something to drink. It only took three steps to get through the dining room. He forgot how small this house was. A big guy in a brown suit held out his hand to Frankie as he passed. “Sorry about your dad.”

  Frankie almost didn’t recognize him; it was Donna’s husband. “Bobby, I didn’t see you there.” He shook Bobby’s hand and they embraced, not like family, but acquaintances. “Donna doing okay?”

  Bobby shook his head. “She hasn’t stopped crying since it happened.”

  “Yeah, I think it’ll be a long night, Bobby. You doin’ okay? How’s work?”

  Bobby shrugged. “We’ll talk later. I gotta worry about Donna now.”

  Frankie didn’t like that answer, but he let it go. He had plenty to keep his mind occupied without having to worry about his degenerate brother-in-law. “Sounds good. I’ll catch up with you another time,” Frankie said, and headed into the kitchen. He thought Bobby’s eyes looked a little funny, but that could’ve been explained by crying—if he had. If not, it could’ve been explained by drugs, and if Frankie had a c-note to bet he’d place it on the drugs. Anyway, that was Donna’s problem.

  Relatives kept pouring in all day. The ones who still lived in Wilmington got there early, but by late afternoon people were arriving from Jersey and Philly. By five o’clock the house was jammed. So was the back yard. Frankie looked around and smiled. With all these people and only one bathroom, it could have been a disaster, but neighbors on both sides opened up their houses, letting people use their bathrooms. That’s the way people were here—real neighbors.

  Angie walked in the front door, arms loaded with food. A young girl was right behind her. Frankie walked over and hugged Angie, a brief smile lighting his face. “Damn it’s good to see you. Thanks for coming.”

  “I’m so sorry about your father, Frankie.” She kissed his cheek. “I figured you could use the food.”

  “We can use it, and we really appreciate it,” Frankie said, and he took a quick glance of the room, tension building. “Is Nicky here?”

  “Dad’s parking the car,” Rosa said. “There wasn’t any place for two blocks.”

  Frankie stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “Dad? My God, is this…” He turned to Angie, a question on his face.

  She blushed. “I forgot you never met Rosa.” She placed Rosa between herself and Frankie. “Rosa, I know you’ve heard your dad talk about him, but this is Frankie Donovan. Mr. Donovan to you.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Frankie said. “And we’ll have none of that Mr. Donovan shit around here. Call me Bugs or Frankie. I feel old enough as it is.”

  Rosa smiled, but she leaned in and whispered, “I have strict orders.”

  Frankie winked, and then reached for the food in Angie’s hands. “Let me help,” he said, and grabbed the bowl then started toward the kitchen. He inhaled deeply, the aroma bringing back memories. “Is this what I think it is? Mamma Rosa’s meatballs?”

  Angie’s laughter was full of pride. “Just call them ‘Little Rosa’s’ meatballs now. And they’re just as good.”

  “Little Rosa…I still can’t believe it.”

  Rosa set her food on the table and gave a bashful smile as she extended her hand. “I’m very sorry about your father, Mr. Donovan.”

  Frankie grabbed her and hugged.

  “She’s as pretty as her mother isn’t she, Bugs?”

  Frankie spun to see Nicky standing behind him, another bowl of food in his hands. Frankie waited until Nicky set it down then grabbed him in a warm embrace. “Goddamn it’s good to see you, Rat.” He squeezed him hard, fighting back tears. He wasn’t going to cry, had made a vow on that. “Thanks for coming. I appreciate it.”

  Nicky patted his back. “Didn’t know if you’d want me or not, but Angie had her mind made up.”

  Frankie pushed back, looking Nicky up and down. “I’m glad she did,” he said, then grabbed Rosa and pulled her to him. “And you. Look how beautiful you are!”

  “Where’s your mom, Bugs?”

  “On the sofa,” Frankie said. “You’ll need to break through the wall of relatives, but she’s there.” He grabbed Nicky’s arm. “Come on. She’ll be happy to see you.” He turned to Angie. “You too, Angie, and Rosa. Come on.”

  As they offered condolences to his mother, Frankie noticed something going on between Donna and Bobby. Frankie made his way closer, hoping to forestall any embarrassment. By the time he got there Bobby’s voice had already gotten too loud.

  “What the fuck is he doing here?”

  Frankie took two quick steps and grabbed Bobby’s arm, squeezing hard. He leaned in and whispered. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you better keep it down. Have some goddamn respect.” He let go of Bobby’s arm but continued glaring at him and then at Donna.

  “Keep out of it, Frankie. It’s none of your business,” she said.

  “It sure as hell is my business. If you can’t control your emotions, go outside.”

  “No need for us to leave. Just tell your killer friend to.”

  So that was it. I should have known. “Leave Nicky out of this. He came to pay his respect.”

  Bobby pushed close to Frankie. “Like he did that night in Woodside when he killed my brother?”

  Frankie had to look up at Bobby; he was a big guy. “Nicky did his time for that.”

  Bobby scoffed. “Ten years for my brother’s life seem fair to you?”

  Frankie glared harder. “Let it go.”

  “I’ll let it go for now, but—”

  Frankie grabbed hold of his shirt. “Listen, forget the fact that your brother killed our friend, or that he was trying to kill me. This is for your own sake—leave Nicky alone. You don’t know who you’re fucking with. I know you’re a big man, Bobby, and I know you’re tough, but trust me, you don’t want any part of Nicky Fusco.”

  Bobby shook him off, took Donna’s hand, and led her into the dining room.

  Nicky was standing there when Frankie turned around. “Trouble, Bugs?”

  “Just my sister and her husband. They’re upset, is all.”

  �
�Got anything to do with me?”

  “Nothing, Nicky. Forget about it, okay?”

  Nicky said, “Yeah, no problem, Bugs,” but he stared at Bobby as he said it, and Bobby stared back.

  CHAPTER 6

  Lou Gets a Partner

  Brooklyn, New York

  Sherri Miller wasn’t even born when the phrase “black is beautiful” became popular, but she embraced it, embodied it, and lived it every minute of her life. She was a billboard for it, and drew whistles, stares, and even lewd remarks whenever she walked down the streets—certain streets anyway. Most of all she was proud of it, which showed with every one of her many smiles and the frequent laughter that accompanied those smiles.

  As the door closed behind her on Lieutenant Morreau’s office, she walked past Carol’s desk, out the door, and started down the steps. The lieutenant’s words played in her memory like a recording, and, from the description he gave her, the guy she needed to talk to was coming up the steps. Sherri stopped halfway down.

  “Lieutenant Morreau said to find the grumpiest, nastiest, most foul-mouthed cop in the station. That you?”

  Lou Mazzetti stopped, one hand on the rail and one on his knee for support. “Getting bad when I’m panting like this and I’m only halfway there, but be careful what you say—I might get a second wind and kick your ass.”

  Sherri reached out and took hold of his arm, offering one of her smiles as she did. “Sherri Miller, your new partner.”

  “I should’ve known Morreau would screw me,” Lou said. “I asked for an Italian partner.”

  “Buon giorno, Signore.”

  Mazzetti looked at her as if she came from Mars.

  “My mother was Sicilian,” Sherri said.

  Lou took her hand and started back up the long climb. When they reached the top of the stairs, he looked her over. “Lucky day for me. I finally got a partner I like to look at, and you’re half Italian.” He reached to shake her hand. “Lou Mazzetti. Tired, grumpy, half-dead dago cop.”

  Sherri laughed. “Nice to meet you, Lou.”

  “Same here, and before we get started, let’s get coffee.”

  “I already started a fresh pot for you.”

  “I’d normally kiss you for that, but they’d probably charge me with harassment, so I’ll just say thanks.”

  “You’re as goofy as Carol said.”

  “Yeah, that’s me.” Lou turned the corner into the coffee room and grabbed two cups. “How do you take it?”

  “Little bit of cream. No sugar.”

  Lou brought the coffee over and sat next to her. “What strings did you pull to get partnered with me?”

  “I had to go all the way to the mayor’s office, but I got what I wanted.”

  Lou took a sip of his coffee and smiled. “What got you into homicide?”

  “Lots of things.”

  “Yeah?”

  Sherri stared at him over the rim of the Styrofoam cup. She tried to make the sip last forever, but it didn’t work, so she set the cup down. “Is this going to be one of those deals where you keep asking me until I tell you?”

  “Probably. I like to know a little something about my partners.”

  Sherri drained the rest of her coffee and tossed the cup into the trash basket in the corner.

  Lou nodded. “Good shot.”

  “Yeah, well, environment and all that. Anyway, as far as what got me into Homicide… I was heavy into drugs and halfway to prostitution when a cop saved my ass. Actually, he busted my ass, but I guess he felt sorry for me or something. Instead of taking me in, he hooked me up with a rehab center. Took me almost two years, but I finally got off everything. During the process I figured out I liked helping people, so I went back to school and then to the academy.” She lowered her head, looking like she might tear up. “I wish my dad could have seen me graduate. He would have been proud.”

  Lou waved a hand. “Don’t be too sure. My old man said the only reason I became a cop was because I was too stupid to be a mobster.”

  Sherri cocked her head and gave Lou a skeptical look. “Get out.”

  “It’s true. No shit.” Lou pulled out a smoke but didn’t light it, though he fidgeted as if he was going to. “By the way, what you told me—anybody else know about it?”

  “A couple of people.”

  “It’ll be a couple plus one now, but no more than that.” Lou pushed his chair back and stood, heading for the door. “Come on, Miller. I’ll show you what we have so far.” He turned right down the hall and took another right into a room with a conference table in the center. “We call this the chart room. I used to solve cases just by following leads, but now Donovan has got me using charts and actually thinking.”

  Sherri walked over and stood before the chart hanging on the back wall. “There’s not much here.”

  Lou came up beside her. “You got in at the beginning of a case. We’ll be learning as we go on this one. For now, all we know is what you see here: suitcases covered in plastic found in hallway; chopped up body parts inside; no head, hands, feet, or member.”

  “You mean his dick was cut off?”

  “I didn’t want to get crude, but yeah, his dick was cut off. Not his balls though.”

  Sherri shook her head. “There are some sick bastards out there.” She flipped through the papers in the folder Lou had on the table. “And there are no witnesses to any of it?”

  “No one saw anything. Or heard anything.”

  “So why was the body left there? Any connections to unusual things in the building?”

  “I’m with you on that. Why that building? Why that floor? Could have left the body anywhere—a dump, a dumpster, an alley…”

  Sherri nodded. “I’d like to look at the scene if you don’t mind. I know you’ve been—”

  “No, I need another look anyway, except I’m not climbing the steps. You can do that alone. I do want to check out the area though, maybe talk to a few more people.”

  “Fair enough. Let’s go.”

  “You drive,” Mazzetti said. “I hate driving.”

  “Is there anything you like to do?”

  “Shoot people. I love to shoot people. That’s why I joined the force.”

  Sherri turned her head. “How many people have you shot?”

  “None yet, but I hope to remedy that on this case.”

  “I didn’t know Homicide was going to be so much fun,” Sherri said.

  “Fun? Wait till Donovan gets back; he’s a real barrel of laughs.”

  Sherri got the car and picked Lou up at the curb. She pulled out and headed toward Prospect Park. “Mazzetti, I really do like you.”

  “That makes one.”

  THE CRIME SCENE LOOKED the same from the outside: same ten-story apartment building, same concrete stoop with the edges worn, and the same overflowing dumpsters reeking of last week’s garbage on the side.

  “This is it,” Lou said. “Sixth floor. And the elevator’s broken, so it’s a hike.”

  “I’ll go up. You take the side.” Sherri half jogged to the front door, her butt straining to get out of her pants as she bounced up the steps with the energy of a teenager.

  “Don’t stop till you hit the sixth floor,” Lou yelled as he walked toward the dumpsters.

  The area around them had already been checked, and they had been emptied and inspected, but in the two days since he’d been here they were already full again. Lou didn’t expect to find anything new, but he wanted to check the scene, see if anything jumped out at him. Trash hung over the rim, and garbage lay strewn on the ground surrounding the area. A couple of suitcases with a body in it could easily get lost in that mess—maybe that’s what the killer didn’t want. Maybe the killer wanted the publicity and that’s why he put the suitcases in the hallway. Lou lit a cigarette and shook his head. Sick fuck.

  He went back to the front door, stood beside the stoop, and questioned everyone who passed. They had all been interviewed already, and Lou got nothing new. An older black man ca
me in with his wife. Lou showed them his badge. “How long has that elevator been busted?”

  “About a week, maybe ten days.”

  “Ten days is more like it,” the wife said. “I know, because I called the super.”

  “You see anything unusual in the last couple of weeks? Any strangers hanging around? Anybody having troubles?”

  The old guy laughed. “Detective, everybody in this building’s got troubles, but as far as strangers, I haven’t seen any. And I can tell you, whoever dragged that body up those six flights of stairs is a younger man than me.”

  Lou thanked them and thought about what the man said. The guy was right. Carrying a body, even one missing the head and hands and feet, was a formidable task. He took out his notepad and wrote it down.

  Guy must be in good shape, he wrote.

  He was still adding more thoughts when Sherri returned, coming down the stairs.

  “You find anything?” she asked.

  He looked at her with raised brows. “Did you run up and down those steps?”

  “About halfway up, and all the way down. I need to build steps into my workout.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I assume the crime scene guys printed the railings and walls and all of that,” Sherri said.

  “Yeah, and as you might guess, we got a truckload of prints. Cleared most of them with tenants, but that still left too many to be of much use. I got two guys trying to narrow them down, and another one matching against known offenders, but I’m not waiting for a payday.”

  Lou took out another smoke. “I talked to a couple who said the elevator’s been broken about ten days. Likely means the guy knew it was out. So what, do you think it’s someone who knew I would draw the case and they wanted to kill me in some fancy way, making me climb these steps?”

  Sherri pointed her finger at him. “That’s exactly how I see it.”

  A cell phone rang, and Lou reached for it. “Mazzetti.”

  “It’s Kate.”

  “Spit it out.”

  “Not much. A knife wound in the gut is what killed him. They cut him up afterwards.”