Old Flame

by Ira Berkowitz

  “So this wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing,” I said.

  “It never is.” He smiled and held out a forkful of trout. “You gotta try this. It really is good.”

  “But that doesn’t make it right.”

  He put the fork down on his plate. “Do you remember Angelo Carpozzi?” he said.

  “He was a cop.”

  “Right. A big ape of a guy. When I was younger, whenever he would run into me — at a restaurant, out on the street, wherever — he would take me into an alley, rip a button off his uniform, and play a riff on my skull with his nightstick. If I fought back or lodged a complaint — which I would never do — he could say I attacked him. Remember the ripped-off button? I don’t know how many times the guinea bastard kicked the shit out of me.”

  “He was a bad cop and didn’t deserve to wear the badge,” I said.

  “Or maybe he was just doing his job cleaning up the neighborhood.”

  “That’s nuts.”

  “No, it’s power. And sometimes you’ve got to break the rules for the greater good.”

  “What’s the greater good in stabbing Terry?”

  “He knows I’m not to be fucked with.”

  “You don’t see the distinction, do you?” I said.

  “What’s the greater good with guys who never served in the military wrapping themselves in the flag and sending kids Anthony’s age off to bring democracy to fucks who would rather kill each other? And when our guys come back with body parts missing, the same guys who sent them treat them like shit on the bottom of their shoes. Explain the morality of hiring a CEO and paying him millions a year, and then the geniuses who hired him throw even more money at him when they figure out he’s a yutz and can his ass? Do you want me to go on?”

  “I get the point.”

  “And it’s about fucking time. Look, I understand where you’re coming from, Jake. But understand me. All I give a fuck about is the well-being of my family. Everything else is nothing.” He planted his arms on the table and leaned forward. “So, where does that leave us?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Then you better figure it out.”

  I wasn’t sure that I could.

  CHAPTER

  33

  Dave offered me a lift. I needed to walk.

  It was an unusually balmy day, and the streets were clogged. After a few blocks, I stopped to check my messages. There was one. Stuart’s accountants had come through. I headed over to Été.

  Stuart was one of those people who look overwhelmed even when they are sleeping. Short, abrupt movements. Hurried speech. Mind always somewhere else.

  “Good to see you again,” I said. “What do you have for me?”

  He handed me a thick manila envelope. “All the charge receipts and cash transactions for that evening. The originals. I would have made copies, but I just didn’t have the time.”

  I slipped the envelope under my arm. “Can I take them with me?”

  He shook his head. “Uh-uh. But you can use my new office. Actually, it’s Noonan’s old office. I’ve got his job now. Probationary. Seems like they’re trying me out.”

  “Good for you, Stuart.”

  He blushed. “It wasn’t the way I wanted to get it, but . . .”

  “You’ll take it.”

  “I guess. Come on, I’ll show you where it is.”

  I followed him through the dining room and into the back. We stopped at what looked like a broom closet with a desk jammed into it.

  “Everything you need is right here,” he said. “If you need to make copies, the machine is in the corner. I’ve got to get back. There’s so much to do. One thing after another. I’ll be out front if you need me.”

  “Appreciate it, Stuart.”

  I opened the envelope and spread its contents on the desk. The accountants had made my job easy. There were two packets secured by rubber bands. One contained charge receipts. The other, much smaller packet contained cash receipts. Included also was a spreadsheet listing each transaction, cash or charge, by time and amount. Operating on the “trust no one” theory, I added the charge receipts and checked the total against the spreadsheet. It tallied. Not surprising. It’s nearly impossible to fudge charges. Then I went back through the charge receipts and looked for Ferris’s name.

  No dice.

  That meant he either paid cash or someone else paid the bill. I rechecked the charge receipts, searching for any familiar name, and came up with nothing. I guess I didn’t travel in those rarefied circles.

  Next, I turned my attention to the cash receipts. They came to eight thousand dollars. The spreadsheet showed six. Someone had his hand in the till. The IRS gets the spreadsheet, and the receipts get lost. Not surprising, but it still didn’t answer the question of whether Ferris was at the restaurant the night he was murdered.

  And then it hit me, something Toal had said about the ME’s report. I went looking for Stuart.

  I found him at the reservations desk and handed him the receipts.

  “Find what you were looking for?” he asked.

  Raising the possibility of skimming with Stuart wasn’t a good idea. For all I knew, he could be the skimmer, but I doubted it. But my guts insisted that skimming was a piece of the puzzle, and I knew just the guy who could help me get to the bottom of it.

  “I think so.”

  “Glad to help,” he said. “By the way, if you’re in the neighborhood some evening, I’d love for you to be my guest for dinner.”

  “I might just do that. Thanks.”

  He handed me a menu. On the way out I looked at it.

  And I had the answer.

  CHAPTER

  34

  Kenny stood with his back against the bar, sipping from a bottle of water. I had called him and asked him to meet me at Feeney’s. He didn’t look happy to see me, and I didn’t blame him. Our relationship thus far wasn’t what he bargained for. And it wasn’t about to improve.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked.

  “Always.”

  “How about a kosher meal? My treat.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What’re you setting me up for?”

  “Not a thing. Just two friends enjoying a meal. I’ll even spring for the cab.”

  “You mean it?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “That’s what I thought,” he said.

  He took me to a restaurant in the Forties, west of Madison. We both ordered the rib eye steaks, on the bone. It was great.

  “What makes food kosher?” I asked. “Like, why can’t you eat pork? I always figured it had something to do with trichinosis, or that pigs rolled around in crap.”

  “Nothing to do with it. It’s because God said so. He’s very clear about what’s permissible and what isn’t, and that’s it.”

  “Really? What about mixing milk and meat?”

  “More complicated, but pretty much the same thing.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “Look, I’d love to discuss this with you further, but what shit job do you have lined up for me?”

  “What makes you think it’s a shit job?”

  “I’m a fast learner,” he said.

  “Can you get me the names of the owners of a particular restaurant?”

  “Sure. But it’s probably a corporation.”

  “Can you pierce the veil?”

  “With a little work. What’s the restaurant?”

  “Été.”

  “That place across from where those guys tried to kill you.”

  “That’s the one.”

  “It will be my pleasure,” Kenny said. “Anything else?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why do I feel like the governor just pardoned me?”

  “I seem to have that effect on people.”

  “I actually enjoy working with you,” Kenny said.

  “That truly is a mystery.”

  “No, I’m serious. Stuff seems to happen to you, and that makes things fun.”
/>
  “It occurred to me I know very little about you, Kenny. Are you married?”

  “I was. Nice lady. She couldn’t put up with my life. I couldn’t blame her.”

  “Any kids?”

  “Two. Six and four. She won’t let me see them. Says it isn’t good for them to have somebody like me in their lives.”

  “I’m very sorry.”

  He shrugged. “You make choices, and you have to live with them. I do see them, though. She doesn’t know it, but I see them. I know their schedules to the minute. When they go to the park. When they go to school. They don’t know I’m there, but I see them. Beautiful kids. Getting bigger every day.”

  “I didn’t mean to open this can of worms.”

  “It’s not a can of worms,” he said. “It’s my life. And what about you, Steeg?”

  “What about me?”

  “What’s important to you?”

  “The people I love. Family.”

  “So, maybe we’re not too different.”

  Could be Dave had it right after all.

  CHAPTER

  35

  I needed some alone time.

  My lungs burned, I was bone tired and in no mood for company. What I was looking forward to was a quiet evening at home. Catch up on some reading. Listen to some music. And turn in early. As much as I hated to admit it, I was wearing down, and coming to grips with my own fragility was something I wasn’t used to. I had been grappling with Ferris’s murder and the Danny Reno situation for a while. My bread had been cast out on the waters, and I wanted to sit back and let the tide bring something in.

  I popped a Carter Family CD into the CD player, opened the newspaper to the sports section, and stretched out on the sofa. Fifteen minutes later my doorbell rang. I seriously considered not answering. I should have gone with my instincts. I hauled my body up and went to the door.

  The tide hadn’t been kind. Jeanmarie and Ollie stood at my threshold.

  “Can we come in?” she asked.

  “This is not a good time.”

  “Do you have company?”

  “No.”

  “Then it’s a good time,” she said.

  She brushed past me. Ollie trailed in her wake.

  By the time I closed the door and got back to the living room, she and Ollie had settled in on the sofa.

  Hoping to send the message that this would be a short visit, I stood.

  “What do you want?” I said.

  She reached over and plucked a vase from an end table. “Remember this, Ollie?” she said. “We gave it to Ginny on their first anniversary.”

  Her tone implied that I had somehow stolen the vase.

  “Take it, it’s yours.”

  She replaced the vase.

  “It wasn’t expensive anyway,” she said.

  Jeanmarie was in rare form.

  “Why are you here?”

  She looked around the living room. “How do you do it, Steeg?”

  “Do what?”

  “Live alone. Your mother, Norah, always said you didn’t need anybody. Said that you’d be perfectly happy sitting on a stump in the middle of a field with only yourself for company. Didn’t she say that, Ollie?”

  Ollie appeared to have something else on his mind.

  “It’s a wise mother who knows her own children, Jeanmarie,” I said.

  “Are you saying I don’t know my children?”

  “I’m saying that I’m not up to dealing with you tonight. What’s on your mind?”

  “Tell him, Ollie.”

  But Ollie didn’t seem to be in the mood for idle talk. He looked away and rubbed his hands together as if trying to warm them.

  “Let’s go home, Jeanmarie, and leave him be. The lad looks poorly.”

  “He always looks like this. Tell him, I said.”

  I wondered what sin Ollie had committed in some previous incarnation to wind up with someone like Jeanmarie.

  “Tell me what, Ollie?”

  “I screwed up, Steeg. Got caught up in something and it’s coming back on my family.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He looked down at his hands and then at Jeanmarie, who stared straight ahead, stone-faced. Realizing there was no help there, he continued.

  “I was there that night. Outside of the gay bar. I saw what they did to that boy, and I ran.”

  “You were at Neon?”

  “Aye. I saw you come in. Surprised me. Never figured you for one of those.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The man was beyond redemption.

  “Why were you there?”

  “Went out to hoist a few with Liam’s friends. Hit a few bars, everyone was feeling good. It was getting late and I wanted to pack it in, and the fella they call Big Tiny wouldn’t hear of it. His blood was truly up that night. Said the fun was just starting. And that’s how we wound up there.”

  “And you and the other assholes beat that man to death?”

  “No, I had no part of it. The Nancy boy was up the corner from the bar. Looked to be waiting for someone. The boys went up to him. Pushed him around a bit. Told him they wanted him to . . . do things to them. He was so scared I thought he would piss himself. He tried to get away, but . . . you know the rest. They were on him like a pack of wolves. Never figured it would come to that.”

  “Why would you get involved with these people, Ollie?”

  “Because,” Jeanmarie spat, “the man’s a layabout, not a proper man, a slug who can’t hold a job for three days in a row and blames everyone else for his shortcomings. If it’s not the blacks, it’s the Jews, or the Puerto Ricans. Always someone else. May as well be the Martians. Ah, what’s the use! He is what he is, and I’m stuck with him.”

  “Now, Jeanmarie . . .” Ollie said.

  She cut him off. “Don’t you ‘Jeanmarie’ me. You tell Steeg everything, or I’ll put you out of the house.”

  He looked down at his hands again, his voice barely above a whisper. “It was me who sent Tony those letters.”

  The Universe had finally kicked in.

  “Why?”

  “He was a nigger, and my daughter brought disgrace on our family when she married him.”

  “You disgrace this family,” Jeanmarie said.

  “Where did you get this from?”

  “Stuff Liam brought home. Pamphlets and such.”

  “Like father, like son. Not a brain between them. Wonderful family I raised.”

  “And you believe this twisted shit?” I said.

  Ollie looked away.

  “I did, God forgive me,” he said.

  Some things just take your breath away.

  I looked at Jeanmarie.

  “Do you buy this crap too?” I said.

  “I believe in the Holy Mother Church and its teachings. I also know that Ollie is going to burn throughout eternity for his sins. But he didn’t kill Tony, and while he’s here on earth, I will not allow my husband to be punished for something he did not do.”

  I turned back to Ollie. “Tell me about Ferris.”

  “I wrote him notes. Telephoned him. Warned him what would happen if he didn’t leave my daughter.”

  “And?”

  The room was very still.

  “Wanted him dead,” he said. “I followed him, looking for the right opportunity.”

  “And you had a few but never followed through.”

  He looked down at his hands. “Aye,” he said.

  “How about the night he was murdered?”

  “Jeanmarie and I were at church. Most Precious Blood.”

  Now, that was an alibi!

  “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “I’m worried for my daughter,” Ollie said. “I’ve put her in danger.”

  “Ginny mentioned she received a note after Ferris was killed, and I couldn’t figure out why. But I have a feeling you’re going to solve that little mystery.”

  “Aye, Tiny knows I wasn’t happy about killing that l
ad at the bar. He’s afraid I won’t keep my mouth shut. So now the bastard’s using Ginny to keep me quiet.”

  “I didn’t know Ollie was behind these things when I first asked for your help, Steeg,” Jeanmarie said. “Appears that I need your help again.”

  I think there was a compliment buried somewhere in there.

  “It’s already been taken care of,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Trust me, Big Tiny’s writing days are over. What now, Ollie?”

  “My conscience is clean,” he said.

  “Really!”

  “That night at church, I made my first confession in I don’t know how many years. Father Burke said that for my sins to be forgiven I had to make a clean breast of things. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Have you told Ginny?”

  “I have. And she’s done with me. I don’t blame her. Tony dead. Liam too. Colleen, living Lord knows what kind of life. And it’s my fault. I was a piss-poor father to my children.”

  Ollie was back to feeling sorry for himself, and it made me want to puke.

  “That you were, and a piss-poor imitation of a man. But if it’s sympathy you’re looking for, I’m fresh out. Maybe a few more Acts of Contrition will do the trick.”

  CHAPTER

  36

  That men like Ollie exist is a hell of a comment on the human condition, and an enduring wonder. At Most Precious Blood, we were taught that God gave us a “one size fits all” path to Him. The problem is, guys like Ollie develop their own twisted theologies to fit God. The things we do in His name truly chill the soul.

  I called Luce.

  “You’re not going to believe this one,” I said.

  “Wanna bet?”

  I filled her in on the latest twist.

  “Where in hell did he come up with this stuff?”

  “Christian Identity horseshit.”

  “Are these the folks who live in Idaho and see black helicopters in their dreams?”

  “The very same. Skinheads. Klansmen. Posse Comitatus. Neo-Nazis. The truly fucked up who live among us.”