Forever Haunt

by Adam Carpenter

  “Hal is good enough.”

  Jimmy extended his hand. “I appreciate it, Hal. Jimmy.”

  “You think Decca was a marked man?”

  Jimmy paused. “Why do you say that?”

  “Gunshot to the forehead, not quite execution style but close enough. Simple, deliberate.”

  “You mean it wasn’t a robbery.”

  “You hear enough. Guess he pissed off the wrong person. The wrong person won.”

  Jimmy nodded his thanks and turned around, heading out of the laundromat and into the dark night. It had grown cool again, but the air was welcome after the stifling heat he’d felt from the churning washers and dryers. He pulled the collar of his leather jacket tight against his neck to shade his face as he refocused on the crime scene, trying to discern what valuable information he might have just heard. Jimmy decided to take a risk, see what else he could learn.

  He moved closer to the crime scene tape, careful not to touch it. But being obvious in his interest in the darkened store. Not to mention the cop car. It was from the Seventh Precinct, which he guessed patrolled the Lower East Side. He didn’t know all the precincts. Just then the driver side door of the police cruiser opened and a large, thick-bodied cop in uniform emerged. He was black, very dark-skinned, heavy around the middle. Jimmy felt himself being sized up. And why not, he’d done the same.

  “Evening, officer.”

  “Can I help you?”

  “Oh, no, I was passing by. Sorry, got curious. Was wondering if us neighbors should be worried.”

  “You live around here, sir?”

  “No, no, down on Delancey, near the bridge.”

  “I suggest you go on home. Nothing to see here.”

  “Sorry to bother you.” He paused, looking at the awning. “Fancy name for a pawn shop.”

  “You can dress anyone up, doesn’t mean they’re royalty,” the cop said. “Night, sir.”

  Jimmy wasn’t going to get anything further from him, and so he nodded this thanks, crossed the street and faded into the shadows lurking near the corner. But he stayed put, wondering if his quick exchange with the cop would produce anything. It was a ten-minute wait before a dark car pulled up, this one unmarked but clearly law enforcement. He knew the model. What he wondered was whether this was a scheduled meeting, or had the cops alerted their superiors to some nosy guy asking questions he shouldn’t outside the crime scene? Had he been marked? Jimmy waited as the door opened, and he realized he knew the identity of the man who was checking in on the assigned officers. Jimmy’s mind whirled with the ramifications.

  He watched as the senior officer conferred with the cop Jimmy had just spoken to.

  Both cops then scoped out the area, as though looking for someone. For Jimmy, no doubt. He pulled back against the side of the building, hoping he remained undetected. Getting a better look at the man’s face as he emerged underneath that lamppost, Jimmy confirmed who the new arrival was.

  “Frisano,” he said, cold air getting constricted in his chest.

  But not Captain Francis X. Frisano, the man whose bed he shared, but his father, Lieutenant Salvatore Frisano, who, the last Jimmy knew, was leading the task force formed by Commissioner Delaware to investigate the shooting death of Officer Denson Luke. And here he was, at the murder scene of noted pawn broker Bobby Decca. Jimmy had his link, his suspicions confirmed. Then he thought about that last connection he’d been trying to piece together, that of Hell’s Kitchen crook Mickey Dean, who it wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility had known Decca. And who else was assisting on this newly formed task force? None other than Lieutenant Lawrence Dean, Senior, who just happened to be Mickey’s father.

  Jimmy had said it before and he thought it now: he hated coincidence.

  The strings of this case had just tightened, just as the knot in Jimmy’s throat did the same.

  He turned, wanting to avoid a confrontation with the influential Lieutenant Frisano, and so he let the Lower East Side swallow him up. The anonymity was welcome.

  § § § §

  Two cases occupied his mind. Just when he thought he should focus on one of them, namely that of a boy gone missing, the other insinuated itself into the forefront of his mind. He felt he was missing something regarding the enigmatic Blue Death, the murder of the pawn broker and the presence of Frisano’s influential father.

  He’d slept with the indecision all night, and was now awake early on a Wednesday morning—it wasn’t even 8 a.m. The smell of brewing coffee had lured him to the McSwain kitchen. According to a note left on the table, Maggie was up and out already, doing the grocery shopping prior to a two-show day, leaving Jimmy to his conflicted solitude. He grabbed a mug, poured, and sat down, thought again about how his day might play out. More clues, or just continued frustration? Which case would steal his hours.? He was interrupted by the arrival of his younger sister, sour expression as usual.

  “You’re up early,” Jimmy said.

  “No, the baby is up early. Kicking up a storm,” Meaghan replied. “God, I’d die for coffee.”

  “Want me to make you some decaf tea?”

  “I hate tea. I just want to crawl back into bed. Or just push this thing out.”

  Jimmy gazed at his ornery sister. Her fiery red hair was flat against her skull, her disposition even flatter. Her belly was large, and the little one inside her was seemingly restless. He attempted a smile in her direction. “Oh, are you still pregnant?”

  She flipped him the bird. “Not that you’d notice. Even when you’ve been here you haven’t been.”

  He went to the sink, ran water over the now empty mug and placed it upside down on the counter. He then went to his sister. In a rare moment of intimacy, he grabbed hold of her swollen hands. She allowed it, her sneer falling away. “Sorry, Meaghan, I’m working a couple cases. Life’s gotten complicated all of a sudden. But trust me, my investigation will be well worth it. I’m onto something. Something big, I think. Something bad.”

  “About that woman, our new neighbor.”

  Jimmy shook his head. “No, that case has gone…stale. No, this is about Dad.”

  “It always is.”

  “Until we know the truth, that’s right.” Jimmy reached out, placing his palms against his sister’s belly. He could feel his niece or nephew moving about, active. A strange feeling, for him, for her no doubt, and the responsibility that was soon coming to the McSwain clan hit him. He would be an uncle, and he would need to be there, he would want to be there. But he also wanted to let the baby know it was being born into a world where justice prevailed. It was almost like a ticking clock: before new life arrived, you had to properly bury death.

  Jimmy kissed her cheek. “Gotta run. Don’t have that kid without me.”

  “I think he or she is in charge.”

  “Ha. Just remember that for the next eighteen years.”

  Jimmy departed, fresh determination winning out over his barking shoulder. He must have slept on it wrong. He barreled down the stairs, ready to extend his lead from the previous night. His thoughts switched from Meaghan and the baby to the deaths of Mickey Dean, of Denson Luke and of Bobby Decca, when he suddenly had to switch gears again to a case that had dried up with far too many questions. An older man, short, stout, with wiry gray salt and pepper hair approached the top of the basement steps to the building. He looked surprised to see Jimmy and stopped in his tracks. The entry door was only a few feet from Carmen Ramirez’s front door.

  “Morning Mr. Cortez, a moment of your time?”

  “Hey, Jimmy, how’s it going? You’re up early. Working a case?”

  “A man’s work is never done.”

  “No kidding.” The man held a mop in his hand.

  Gabriel Cortez was the long-time superintendent for several buildings in the neighborhood. He too worked his own hours. “It’s what I do. Sometimes the early hours are best for putting out the trash left by the residents. How’s your mother? And Meaghan—she give birth yet?”

/>   “Maggie’s fine. And no, the baby’s being resistant. No surprise there. Meaghan is more than ready.”

  “She is a difficult one.”

  Jimmy laughed. “You know the McSwain family well.”

  “I have been super here for ten years.”

  Jimmy nodded toward the Ramirez apartment. “What do you know about them?’

  “Mom. A young boy. Quiet so far.”

  “Very quiet,” Jimmy said, an edge to his voice.

  “Is there something I should know?”

  Jimmy wondered how much he should reveal. But opportunity was here at the proverbial—and literal—front door. He decided to knock. “Perhaps. Truth is, Carmen’s husband is in a bit of trouble. I’ve been trying to help them, except Carmen seems to have pulled a disappearing act all her own. It’s all…wonky.”

  “I don’t know that word,” Gabriel said.

  “Meaning not on the up and up. Not sure I’ve been told everything.”

  “I find life is one big mystery. Sometimes it never gives up the answer.”

  The super’s words sunk deep into Jimmy, perhaps deeper than expected. Jimmy spent his days trying to figure out those answers, and most of them continued to elude him. He had to step things up, and that started now. An idea sparked his mind and he felt a sudden rush of determination hit him. “Mr. Cortez, you have the keys to all the apartments, right?”

  Gabriel nodded. His eyes darted towards the Ramirez apartment. “Something wrong?”

  “If I’m to help them, maybe there’s something in there. The boy…he went missing first.”

  That was the kicker. Jimmy knew his super had children and grandchildren, and that family came first. Concern won out over protocol. He walked toward the door to the apartment as he took out a large ring of keys attached to his belt loop. Each key had a piece of colored tape on them. He grabbed a red one, slid it into the top lock, a second into the bottom lock. Jimmy heard two clicks. Gabriel stepped back.

  “Remember, I don’t know nothing. Good luck, Jimmy,” he said, a supportive, meaty hand grabbing Jimmy’s shoulder. Then he spun around and went out of the building. Distancing himself. Something Jimmy felt he should have done that first night he’d seen Carmen.

  He pushed the door open, a mix of fear and anticipation churning in the pit of his stomach. He wished to find before him a typical domestic scene: a mother, a son, sharing breakfast before the start of an ordinary day. Work, school. But of course nothing had been ordinary about Carmen Ramirez since she had arrived in the building, and this morning was no different. Jimmy entered, hearing only the echo of his footsteps in the empty apartment. But his other senses were set into action, mostly sight. On the floor in the center of the living room was an empty pizza box, just a few dried crusts. The carrier for a six pack of beer was evident, too, all six empty bottles laying on their sides like drunken soldiers. Jimmy didn’t think such a meal was Carmen’s type, which begged the question: whose meal was it, and how long had the trash been there? It had been several days since he’d heard anything from any member of the Ramirez family, that in itself strange given the urgency of their situation. Why did it seem no one…cared?

  Another sense was heightened as Jimmy wandered the apartment, following a distinct smell of body odor. Better that than a decomposing body. He made his way to the back bedroom, careful not to make any sound that could startle someone. If a person was living here, he didn’t need to endanger himself with a sudden surprise. The door was slightly ajar, making it easier to open. Less risk of the knob clicking. He maintained his stealth approach, opened the door. There he saw a figure lying face down on the bed, sleeping—or at least he hoped he was just sleeping. If he was dead, it would only have occurred recently. Nothing had the look of violence.

  Jimmy paused, thought about his next move. Should he knock? Clear his throat? Check for a pulse? He opted for the first, his knuckles suddenly hard against the wood door. The sound was abrupt and it caused the man in the bed to shoot up, his body twisting from disorientation. Jimmy waited.

  “What the hell…who are you?”

  Jimmy decided he’d ask the questions. “Mr. Inshan, I’m guessing?”

  The man rubbed his eyes, refocused. “What’s it to you…oh, let me guess, you’re the nosy detective.”

  “I see you’ve been briefed of the situation, then. Where’s Carmen?”

  “She’s safe.”

  “How do I know that?”

  “I’m her husband, I should know.”

  “A husband who ran off when things got dicey. Put her—and your son—in harm’s way.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. Look, man, can you give me a sec? I gotta pee.”

  “All those beers, not surprised.”

  “You a saint?”

  It was a hard blow, reminding Jimmy not to underestimate Ranuel Inshan. He stepped back as the man rose from the bed and proceeded toward the bathroom. He was dressed in shorts, a ratty T-shirt and black socks. He wasn’t unattractive, despite his current ruffled mess. A shock of thick dark hair stuck up at all angles. Jimmy returned to the living room to await the man’s return. He opened a window and let in some needed fresh air. It was still cool outside, still February, winter not yet ready to give up. Jimmy thought about Carmen and hoped her husband’s statement about her being safe was true. While he waited, he picked up the bottles and the pizza box, glad he could clean up one of the family’s messes.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Jimmy heard from behind him.

  “I haven’t had to do anything I’ve done, but I have. Let’s talk about Carmen. You saw her? When?”

  Ranuel Inshan had put on slacks, washed his face. His hair was still unkempt. He looked like a man in transition, in dress and in life. Jimmy supposed he was. “This past Sunday night. I waited for her in front of the hospital for when she got off work.”

  “You knew at that point your son had been taken?”

  He nodded. “My mother contacted me. She was the only one who knew where I was. Like I said, I was doing it out of safety for Carmen. And my boy.”

  Jimmy nodded. “What do you know about Sonny’s abduction?”

  “He’s unharmed, I’ve been assured.”

  “By Mr. Wu-Tin?”

  “His associates.”

  “Kenji?”

  Ranuel’s face showed surprise. “How do you know him?”

  “I’ve done some checking. I’ve also been warned away.”

  “But you’re still working the case.”

  “A little boy is involved. I don’t take lightly to that, nor do threats intimidate me.”

  “Thank you…I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

  “Just call me Jimmy. But more importantly, you can tell me exactly what’s going on with Mr. Wu-Tin? Why did you run, and why would he take your son as collateral? Carmen mentioned something about you knowing something bad.”

  “More like everything,” Ranuel said. “Give me one second.”

  It was more like a minute, as he had to return to the bedroom, only to return with an item held between two fingers. Jimmy recognized a flash drive.

  “I’m guessing there’s important information on that drive?”

  “More like incriminating evidence. I didn’t know when I first started driving for Mr. Wu-Tin what his true business was. He gives off the impression of being nice. Generous even. He has another side. Being his driver, I overheard many conversations. One day I heard something I wish I’d never heard.”

  “Which was what?”

  “I shouldn’t say. It could put you in danger.”

  “I’m already marked by Mr. Wu-Tin’s associates. Might as well live up to the charge.”

  “In addition to his illegal practices, he’s a killer.”

  Jimmy wasn’t surprised to hear this. Men in Mr. Wu-Tin’s position don’t achieve status in the cutthroat business world without having to exercise some questionable decisions. Or just pull a tr
igger.

  “I won’t ask who he killed, because I’m sure it’s more than one. Let’s focus on what’s key right now. Why did you take the flash drive?”

  “Mr. Wu-Tin realized I’d overheard something I shouldn’t. I was called into his office one day, and essentially, he threatened to, as he said, ‘eradicate me’ from his business if I ever breathed a word of what I’d learned. He expected complete trust and devotion from his employees. And at that moment, I had no choice but to nod my head, agree to everything. A man stood by his side. A gun in his hand. I knew he could have just as easily put a bullet into my head right then.”

  “Kenji?”

  “He’s no restaurant manager,” Ranuel said. “Everyone has a front for what they really do.”

  “He’s an assassin,” Jimmy said. “So, why the flash drive if you had already agreed to be a loyal employee?”

  “Insurance, I guess, or foolishness,” he said. “I had a rare opportunity to gain access to Mr. Wu-Tin’s computer. It was an impulsive move, but done out of self-preservation after he’d threatened me. So I copied all the files from the hard drive onto this flash…and suddenly, I had the protection I needed.”

  “Except you made things worse. I’m gathering your boss found out.”

  Ranuel nodded. “Security cameras. He confronted me. I said I had the flash drive hidden, with instructions to release it to the police if anything happened to me. We were at an impasse. He sent me away, but told me his associates would be watching. I panicked. I knew I was in over my head, dealing with something I’d never expected. I ran.”

  “And you wife, your son?”

  “They were with my family. I suppose I thought they were safe. I was naïve.”

  Jimmy nodded. “So now you’ve returned. Why?”

  “Because of Sonny. He should not pay the price for what I’ve done.”

  “You planning to just return the flash drive, an even exchange for your son?”

  “You think that’s foolish?”

  Jimmy paused, trying to absorb all he’d heard. “It’s more than foolish. It’s a death sentence, and not just for you. So, hand it over.”

  Chapter Ten