Falling Into Place

by Scott Young

  DiSalvo stopped near the bed, giving the wrapped-up body of Sandra Westhoff the once over. “So, who’s the stiff? Anybody I know?”

  Tommy looked at his partner warily. “You tell me. If you and Hector are such good buddies, wouldn’t you know his houseguests better than me?” McCabe continued to study DiSalvo to see if his body language gave any inclination that he knew more than he was letting on but it was difficult because of the drugs. Digger had a whole host of ticks and twitches when he was high. Tommy knew from bitter experience that he was infinitely more unpredictable and dangerous that way too.

  Salvatore just shrugged and said, “Got me. Hec over there has so many whores coming and going all the time, they’d need a nametag for me to know which one was sucking my dick on any given day.” DiSalvo snorted at his comment and started wandering around the room again. He hesitated at the closet and Tommy could see him give it a quick once over. Was he looking for something? Someone?

  “And I thought my place was small,” Digger joked, pointing to the makeshift bed.

  This situation kept getting more complicated. Not only was there the potential missing witness to Sandra Westhoff’s death that he needed to find and silence, but now his own partner was getting in the way. Tommy still wasn’t sure if Digger was involved but it seemed like everyone still alive in that apartment knew more than he did. It was starting to piss him off. McCabe needed to play this situation just right if he was ever going to find out what really happened.

  “Seriously, Digger, enough fucking around. I got shit to do so I’ll ask you again, what are you doing here?” Tommy asked calmly.

  DiSalvo smirked and sighed loudly. “Let me ask you a question and then I’ll get out of your hair, partner. I know how you hate company when you’re working.” Digger sat on the corner of the bed across from the closet, facing McCabe. Tommy remained all business, not showing any sign he was in the mood for games.

  “Can you tell me what the difference is between a crossbow and a hand grenade?” DiSalvo asked coyly.

  Tommy face grew angry as he replied, “What kind of fucking stupid question is that?”

  Digger stood up with his hands out in front of him passively, as if trying to calm a barking dog. “Hey, that’s what I want to know, man. I met with the new boss this morning and he said he wanted me to be more like a crossbow and less like a grenade! I don’t know what the fuck he was talking about, do you?”

  Tommy was stunned for a second before he suddenly burst out laughing. All of the stress and anxiety he was feeling completely left his body and he smiled ear to ear. “Are you fucking kidding me? He said he wanted me to act more like a scalpel and less like a shotgun!” he answered while chuckling. “You believe that?”

  DiSalvo laughed so hard his body shook. “Oh, that’s great! Wait...wait! Maybe we should call ourselves Crossbow and Scalpel from now on! Like two douche bags in a buddy cop movie!” Digger shouted between guffaws, causing the two mobsters to laugh even more uncontrollably.

  When they finally calmed down, Digger wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes. “Listen, I don’t know about this new guy, Luongo” he said, suddenly getting serious. “He had me in his office early this morning and after dropping that crossbow/grenade thing on me, he makes me wait for another half hour in the conference room for nothing! He just calls me back in and tells me to do a collection round. Can you believe that? Me? Doing fuckin’ collections again!” The look of disgust on his face made Tommy grin again.

  “Which begs the question once again, what are you doing here, Dig?” Tommy asked, bemusedly.

  “Fuck that guy!” Digger responded. His demeanor changed to that of a teenager who got caught with a joint in his locker. He was indignant but slightly repentant. “I figured I’d get some blow from Guerrero and do my collections in a better mood, y’know?” DiSalvo then asked quietly. “You’re not gonna rat me out, are ya?”

  “Why would I?” Tommy said. “There’s a ton of coke on that table by the door. Help yourself. Hector sure won’t be using it.”

  Hector suddenly sprang to life again. He’d been quiet as a mouse, hoping the two fixers might get into an argument and take each other out before they remembered him. It was a pipe dream of course but, in his position, a pipe dream was the only chance he had. He said through swollen lips, “Hey now, Tommy. What do you mean by that? I ain’t done nothing, man. I –”

  “Shut up, Hector!” Tommy and Salvatore said in unison, causing another few chuckles.

  “Seriously, Digger. I have work to do. You should go.” Tommy said, trying to coax his partner out the door.

  Salvatore stood and adjusted his coat. “Sure thing, partner. Just let me get that pick-me-up before I go.” He walked to the table and picked up a bag of white powder, walked back to the bed, took down a DVD from the book case and proceeded to form 3 parallel lines of cocaine on the cover. He quickly snorted two, then looked up with a huge grin on his face. “Want some?” he asked.

  “No. Finish up and get gone. No more bullshit. There’s a clock ticking on this one, Dig.” Tommy chided, impatiently.

  “Damn, why didn’t you say so, Dude?” DiSalvo snorted the last line, dropped everything on the bed, stood quickly, adjusted his jacket and walked toward Tommy slowly. He made various snorting noises as he massaged his nose with his left hand. Just as he passed Hector, he suddenly pulled his Sig and said, “But if you need info quick, just do what I always do.” He pointed the gun at Hector’s right leg.

  “Digger, don’t!” Tommy shouted but it was too late. DiSalvo pulled the trigger and the room was filled with the thunder of the gunshot. Guerrero screamed as blood spurted upward like a geyser. Salvatore backed away from the chair to avoid the arcing blood, holstering his weapon. “Bet he sings like a canary now.”

  “Dammit!” McCabe screamed as he rushed to Hector’s side. “You fucking shot his femoral artery, you asshole!”

  The fixer frantically tried to wrap Hector’s leg with duct tape but the way he’d restrained him in the chair made it impossible. Blood spurted everywhere and Tommy knew it was useless. Hector Guerrero would bleed out in minutes and he’d die with whatever useful information he had in that ignorant brain of his. Tommy looked derisively at his partner but Digger just shrugged again, as if to say “oh well, shit happens.”

  “Tuh-Tom –.” Hector tried to speak. The pimp was quickly losing consciousness due to blood loss but he finally had something to say. Tommy put his ear close to his ear in hopes of some pearl of wisdom from his death throes; some “Rosebud” to make sense of it all. Tommy couldn’t help but notice the unmistakable smell of lemons as Hector struggled to talk.

  “Juh –Juh –Juh – raffs,” Hector managed to whisper before he passed out. Moments later, he was dead and Tommy McCabe was left with yet another riddle. He turned to his partner.

  “So what did that skell tell you?” DiSalvo asked, unapologetically.

  “Fucking gibberish! What do you think?!” Tommy screamed, his anxiety rising by the second. “Goddammit, Digger! You fucked up big time here! How am I supposed to explain this shit?”

  “Hey! I was trying to help! So sue me!” Digger retorted defensively.

  “No, fuck that shit! You’re helping me clean up this god damn mess you made!” Here!” he yelled, throwing DiSalvo his switch blade. “Cut him loose and let’s wrap him up in those garbage bags and...” Tommy frantically searched the apartment with his eyes. “...that throw rug over there!” he said, pointing to the other room. “Move!” he ordered while reaching for another roll of duct tape from his work bag.

  Digger did as he was told without any back talk. Together the two men had Hector Guerrero’s body wrapped up in minutes. Only then did DiSalvo offer a tepid apology. “Look, man. I – I’m sorry, Tommy. I didn’t mean for it to go down like this,” he said, unable to make eye contact with his partner and friend. “I’ll tell the big man it was my fault.”

  “I appreciate it, but don’t bother,” Tommy replied. “Hecto
r wasn’t making it past tonight anyway so there’s no need for you to be noble. Plus, we both know you suck at it.” The partners half- smiled at each other.

  “Well, at least let me take care of Hector’s body while you take care of the other one, okay?” DiSalvo offered. “I’m guessing you don’t want them together.”

  “Yeah, you do that. Go make Guerrero a bad memory. Nobody is gonna miss him,” Tommy said. “I got some other stuff to take care of. Then I have to change my clothes and go tell the boss man what went down. Don’t worry, I’ll do my best to leave your name out of it, ok?”

  Digger hoisted the throw rug with Hector inside over his shoulder and said, “Thanks for always havin’ my back, Tom. Really.”

  Tommy nodded and with that, DiSalvo grabbed a few bags from the table and walked out of the apartment, leaving McCabe to his own thoughts.

  “Giraffes?” He repeated Hector’s last word. “What the fuck does ‘giraffes’ mean?”

  Tommy was tired and this day had a long way to go before it ended. He was well aware that it still might end with him either set up as the scapegoat or dead, so he figured he might as well get on with it. He cleaned up his tools and placed them back in his bag, making sure not to damage the cookie tin. He wasn’t really sure what point it served to keep the container now, but over the years he’d developed razor sharp instincts about this kind of thing, so he decided to hold onto it for a bit longer.

  The fixer then headed back to the bathroom to wash his hands yet again. At least this time, there was a reason. He was covered in Hector Guerrero’s blood. “If I’m not dead tomorrow, I gotta get myself tested,” he joked to himself, looking at the streaks of red all over his body.

  Once he was finished in the bathroom, Tommy went to the kitchen, poured himself two glasses of scotch, downed them in succession and then measured out a third into the Sylvester and Tweety glass. He walked back into the bedroom, stood at the foot of the bed and stared at the wrapped-up body of the senator’s daughter. “Two Fists” again went over the lingering questions in his mind: who broke the window, who was living in the closet, where did that person go and how did Sandra Westhoff die? He’d gotten nowhere close to answering any of them and now his ass was on the line.

  “Damn it, Digger! He was gonna talk if you hadn’t blundered in! I know he was! Now all I have is ‘Giraffes’!” Tommy yelled out loud, his frustration mounting. He downed the scotch quickly and threw the glass, shattering it against the bookcase nearest the window. The fixer lowered his head, rubbing his temples, attempting to calm himself. When he finally looked up again, he was stunned by what he saw.

  “Son of a bitch!” he exclaimed, as a broad smile broke out across his face.

  By the time Tommy McCabe got back to the building housing Lucifer Luongo’s office it was close to 10 pm. As he rode up in the elevator, carrying his work bag and a laptop computer, he removed his Smith & Wesson M&P45 from its shoulder holster with his right hand. As the elevator doors opened, he gently switched off the safety and strode cautiously into the empty hallway. He’d called ahead to set up a meeting with his new boss, but the entire floor seemed deserted. The fixer gently opened the double glass doors to Harmony’s outer office with his foot. After a few moments, he eased his way into the room. Tommy looked at the door to Luongo’s office, which was open, and then he looked around the rest of the room suspiciously. It was quiet as a tomb.

  “That piece for me, Tommy?” Luongo said, causing McCabe to jump. The crime boss was now standing in the doorway to his office. The fixer was sure no one was there a second ago.

  “No, sir,” Tommy replied, warily. “Just getting paranoid in my old age, I guess. Anyone else here, Don Luongo?”

  “I sent Harmony out for some food...had a craving for steak tartare,” Luongo said as he disappeared into his office. Tommy holstered his weapon and followed him through the doorway. Just as the fixer entered his office, Luongo continued, “Of course, your partner is here, too. Say hello, Gravedigger.” Tommy stopped dead in his tracks, a feeling of dread overtaking him.

  Salvatore DiSalvo was sitting in front of Lucifer Luongo’s expensive desk smoking one of the Don’s Cuban cigars, smiling like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. “Hey, partner. How’d everything work out for ya?”

  Tommy “Two Fists” McCabe remained silent, waiting for the bullet to hit the back of his head. Instead, he got another series of thunderous pats on the back from Luongo. “Have a seat, Thomas!” the crime boss shouted. “Grab a cigar!” Each word sounded like a cannon shot in the quiet office. The fixer again noticed the room felt different, somehow darker and more foreboding. There was a faded odor he couldn’t place, something akin to burnt hair and cinnamon. The fixer walked around his partner and sat in the chair to his right, the same one he’d occupied this morning. Was it just this morning? Tommy thought to himself. Long fuckin’ day.

  “What you got for me, Tommy?” Luongo asked pointedly. “What couldn’t wait?”

  “I found the information you requested. I didn’t think it could wait til morning, what with the sensitive nature of the...uh, situation.” Tommy said, unsure if the boss had clued Digger in or not. The crime boss once again locked eyes with McCabe across his desk. He took a deep breath and exhaled.

  “DiSalvo, get lost for a while. Me and ‘Two Fists’ have things to discuss,” Luongo ordered without even looking at Digger. “And close the door on your way out.”

  “Guess it’s the conference room for ol’ Digger again,” Salvatore half-heartedly joked.

  Once he was gone, Luongo’s demeanor changed. “How much did you find out, Tommy?” he asked almost coyly, like he already knew what the fixer was going to say.

  Tommy reached in his work bag for a moment and then threw two stuffed giraffes, one lavender, the other peach-colored, on Luongo’s desk. “Pretty much everything, sir.” he said. “It’s all here.”

  Luongo looked at the two stuffed animals incredulously. “What’s here? Children’s toys?” he said. “Are you playing games with me, man? Is DiSalvo right? Are you having mental problems, McCabe?” Tommy stiffened as it became clear just what his partner was doing in that office before he’d arrived. Digger was throwing him under the bus to save his own ass.

  “Absolutely not, sir,” Tommy said. “These are anything but toys. One is a motion activated webcam and the other...well, see for yourself!” He picked up the lavender giraffe and ripped it apart. Dozens of flash drives fell out of it like a broken piñata at a quinceañera.

  Luongo smiled. “What did you find out, my man?”

  “Let me show you,” Tommy replied. He set the laptop up in front of the crime boss. He took a USB cable from his bag, plugged it into the computer and then ran it to the underside of the peach, stuffed giraffe.

  Tommy started his tale as he performed these tasks, “I traced Sandra Westhoff to the apartment of one Hector Guerrero, a mid- level pimp in the syndicate. He recruits new girls for his stable at the usual haunts: Port Authority, Grand Central, pretty much anywhere young, naïve girls pour into the city. Apparently, he worked his magic on Sandra. She was in that apartment, but dead by the time I got there, sir.” He paused for Luongo’s reaction just as he finished plugging in the cable.

  “Damn,” Luongo said with a hint of annoyance in his voice, pausing for a moment. “Where is she now?” he finally asked.

  “Forever a part of the foundation on that building going up over on Van Dam,” Tommy said. “The foreman has a problem with playing the ponies. I made his debt go away for a favor: look the other way for a half hour. He doesn’t even know she’s there. No one does ‘cept you and me.” Tommy smirked.

  “Well done, Thomas,” Luongo said. “What else is there?”

  “Just click on that file right there and see for yourself. Guerrero was highly paranoid...his whole place was wired with nanny cams.”

  Luongo did just that and the video file began to play silently. It looked like something from a department store feed: no soun
d but decent enough resolution. The video began with Sandra Westhoff walking to the edge of the bed in Hector Guerrero’s apartment. The pimp came onto camera, talking to her, trying to persuade her of something. She argued. He slapped her hard. Sandra started to cry. Suddenly, Salvatore DiSalvo came into frame and hit Hector. He yelled at the pimp and Hector left the room. Digger comforted Sandra for a few moments before he began to feel her up, laughing as he did. She tried to get away but he was too strong. DiSalvo forced her down and started to undress her, ripping her clothes. Sandra got one arm free and tried to scratch his face but missed.

  DiSalvo pushed her down to the floor and walked off camera only to return a minute late with a syringe. He put her on the bed, slapped her a few times until she stopped squirming and then injected her. Mere moments after the fix, Sandra Westhoff began to drift away, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. Digger then raped her unconscious body. He got up, put on his pants and exited the room.

  Moments later, Hector came back into frame. The pimp puts a pair of purple thong panties and a wife beater T-shirt on the girl, placed a pillow gently under her head and then walked off camera.

  “The cam stops recording after a minute,” Tommy said. “He gave her more than enough heroine to cause an OD. She was probably already dead by the time Digger got done with her. I don’t think he knew who she was, sir.”

  Lucifer Luongo sat back in his chair and breathed deeply. “It’s a little late to protect your partner, Tommy. Besides, it doesn’t matter if he did or not. Even if she wasn’t a senator’s daughter, DiSalvo used syndicate property for his own ends.” Luongo turned and looked at Tommy pensively. “You know this is bad for your boy, so why didn’t you just bury all this with the girl? Why show me?”

  “I thought about burying it, Mr. Luongo, ‘cause me and Digger go way back. We been through a lot together but, bottom line is, I work for the family, not for myself and certainly not for Dig. A guy like me doesn’t have much choice in somethin’ like this. It ain’t like I like doing it. I don’t, but this wasn’t the first time. Those flash drives show dozens of encounters with various girls plus numerous episodes of him shaking down Guerrero for drugs, money, whatever. He’s off the rails, boss.” Tommy paused, gathering himself. He swallowed hard. “You needed to know. When you boil it down, it’s simple as that.” He began to disconnect the cables.