by Owen Parr
I said, “Thank you Alina” to the waitress as she handed me the envelope addressed to Don Signori Giuseppe Mancuso. Funny friends I have.
“What’s in there?” Marcy asked.
“Everything my researcher at the force can get on our three-out-of-five suspects, plus the jumper.” “You’re going to get everyone fired.”
“Great, we’ll hire them for our bar.”
A second later, my cell phone rang; I could see who it was from the caller ID. “Agnes, my darling, how you doing?”
“Hi, Joey, is your brother there today?” Agnes asked.
“He should be here about seven this evening for an hour or so.”
“Wonderful, I’ll stop by and bring my research on your potential perps,” Agnes said.
“See you then, darling.”
“Who was that?” Marcy asked, after I disconnected the call. “Another potential waitress, if she too gets fired.” “Why did you call her ‘darling’?”
“All my lady friends are darlings, darling.”
“What did Agnes want?”
I love it when she gets jealous. “Agnes is like ten years older than me, and anyway, she’s hot for Father Dom.” “Get out of here.” “She was my backup for more research on our top five, just in case my buddy at the force got cold feet. She’s bringing over her files, but she wanted to know if Dom was going to be here.”
“I have to stay for that.” “Father Dom gets really uneasy when she’s here. Back to you. What else did they tell you at the FBI white-collar division?”
“They want to pull the case from me, but I told them I hadn’t helped you in any way. That it was a coincidence that I was working the partner’s case and you were asking questions about one of their employees.”
“They bought it?”
“For now. What did the detectives want?”
“They wanted to see our files.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I said, I don’t have files; I memorize everything.”
“Did you tell them why you’re concentrating on the jumper?” “I told them his widow could be out about two mil, if he in fact committed suicide. And that we didn’t have anything else.”
“They bought it?”
“Like you said, for now.”
Patrick was waving the landline phone over his head, motioning for me to come over. I walked over to the bar. Taking the phone from Mr. Pat, I answered, “Hello, this is Mancuso. How can I help you?” The line was dead. I turned to Patrick and asked, “Who was that?”
“’He’s not on the phone?” Patrick asked, with an inquisitive expression. “The line was dead.”
“He said he was Kathy’s boyfriend,” Patrick replied. “No shit. What did he say?”
“Kathy passed away a few minutes ago.”
“Shit. What else did he say?”
“Not much, he was talking in a hush-hush fashion. He asked for you or Father Dom, and when I asked who was calling, he said, ‘Kathy’s boyfriend.’ That’s all.”
“Did you get his name?”
“He didn’t give me a name.”
“Fuck.”
Greeting some of the patrons, I returned to the booth. “Who was that?” Marcy asked.
“The line was dead when I picked up. But the fellow told Patrick he was Kathy’s boyfriend.” I didn’t tell Marcy the whole story.
“Huh, I wonder what he wanted?”
“It was about Kathy.”
“How is she?”
I looked at Marcy, and immediately, she knew what just happened.
“Father Dom will be devastated,” she said, putting her palms to her cheeks. “Did he say anything else?” “It seems he wanted to, but didn’t tell Patrick. Unless he calls back, we won’t know.” “The receptionist at the partners’ office wasn’t nice to me, but I can call her. Maybe she’ll know who the boyfriend is. I’ll call her tomorrow.”
“What makes you think she’ll tell you?”
“My shield.”
“I don’t want you doing anything that can get you in trouble with the Bureau. As a matter of fact, we shouldn’t be going over these files while you’re here.”
“I know how to do it. If she knows, she’ll tell me. But what about the files?” “I don’t know everyone at the bar. I know my regulars, but there are others here who could be watching us, either from the Bureau or from the force.”
“So, let’s go over to my place and review the research.” “Yeah? We can spread everything on the bed and read.”
“I think the dining room table would be more appropriate for that.”
“Let’s wait for Agnes to bring over the rest, and then we’ll take off. Another mentirita?”
Marcy nodded, and I headed over to Mr. Pat to get her another rum and Coke. The door to the bar swung open, and Father Dom walked in, followed by this exquisite lady wearing a softclinging summer dress that made her look sensual: big-rim glasses with thick lenses, beautiful bright inviting blue eyes behind those, and a long flowing ponytail of thick blonde hair that went all the way to her waist.
“Agnes, how good to see you. Thank you for coming. What can I get you?” I asked, as Patrick was preparing Marcy’s third mentirita.
Father Dom had no idea Agnes was right behind him. I think she’d been waiting outside until Dom came in. Dom turned to see Agnes and immediately became uncomfortable.
“Father, say hello to Agnes,” I said.
“Hi, Agnes,” Dom said, avoiding my eyes for fear I would laugh. Agnes smiled at Dom. “Father, your homily this morning at Mass was wonderful. It gave me a lot to think about.”
“Happy to hear that,” Dom said, as he walked behind the bar, I think, to put a barrier between him and Agnes. “Agnes, something to drink?” I asked again. “Thank you, Joey, I’ll have a Pepsi,” Agnes replied.
This gave Mr. Pat and me the opening for our SNL routine.
“Mr. Pat,” I called out, “a Pepsi.”
Patrick replied, “No Pepsi, Coke.” I asked out loud, “No Pepsi?”
To which the regulars replied in unison, “No Pepsi, Coke.”
Agnes was a bit embarrassed by the routine, while Father Dom just shook his head. “Agnes, have a seat over there with that young lady,” I said, pointing to Marcy. “I’ll bring your drink right over.” I walked behind the bar next to Dom and said in a hushed voice, “She was in church this morning?”
He looked at Agnes to make sure she was far enough not to hear his response, and then he turned to me and replied, “She’s there every morning at six-thirty for my Mass. I think she’s stalking me, brother.”
I turned to face the mirrored wall in case Agnes was facing us; I had to laugh at that one. “Have you ever heard her confession?”
Dom shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you if I had.” “Yeah, but has she ever confessed about having impure thoughts about you and her?” Of course, he didn’t answer that. His expression of disgust was enough to tell me what he was thinking.
“Joey,” he whispered, “I find her attractive,” he said, almost apologizing. “So, do I, brother. She’s attractive. That’s normal; you’re a man first. Imaging when she takes off those glasses and lets her hair down. No need to apologize.”
“I wasn’t apologizing.”
“Sure as hell sounded like that. Just go with flow, bro.”
“No flow. Why is she here?” Dominic asked, changing the subject. “She did research on all five of our suspects.” “Are we going to review that now?”
“I’m afraid not. Marcy and I are going to take it with us. I’ll tell you why later.”
“You’re leaving?” Dom asked, sounding a bit anguished.
“You’ll have to entertain Agnes for a bit. After all, she did all this work for us.” “ Beata Dei misericordia,” Father Dom replied in Latin. “Brother, there’s something else I have to tell you.” “Yeah, about what?”
“Kathy didn’t make it, Dom,” I said, holding both his shoulders. Immediately, he mad
e the sign of the cross and said a little prayer, with his eyes closed. “Frankly, I prepared myself for that. I visited the hospital yesterday, and the prognosis wasn’t good at all. She was never conscious after the accident, and she was in a coma since then.”
“Did you meet the boyfriend?”
“No, only Evans was there.”
“Evans? What the hell was he doing there?”
“I don’t know. He said he and his partner had been visiting on a regular basis.”
“We’ll factor that into our investigation. Right now, I’m taking off. Are you going to be all right?” “Yes, yes, go. When did you get the call about Kathy?” “A few minutes ago.”
“We’ll talk later or tomorrow.”
I made my way over to Marcy and Agnes and excused myself. Agnes was delighted when I told her Father Dom would visit with her for a few minutes. Marcy and I walked out of the bar to the usual glances from the patrons, and I handed Marcy her rum and Coke in a plastic glass.
“I can’t drink and drive,” she said.
“I’ll drive; you drink.”
CHAPTER TWENTY Marcy’s apartment in Brooklyn was a reprieve for me. I really enjoyed her place, not only because she was there, of course, but also because it was a peaceful abode. I think she had decorated in a feng shui style: soft, soothing colors, and one of those Zen water fountains. Whatever that style called for, I think she had it. My place? It was a man cave from top to bottom: not peaceful, more like modern stressful style. Needless to say, I enjoyed Marcy’s place a lot more than mine.
“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, as we walked in. “How comfortable?”
She smiled, “Keep your pants on. We need to work.” “How about my shirt?”
“Whatever.”
I kept my shirt on, just in case. “Who should we target first?”
“Let’s start with the most likely suspect. Who has the biggest motivation?” “The partners?”
“Start with Evans.”
We sat around the dining room table. I read; Marcy took notes. “Let’s see,” I said, opening Agnes’ file on my left. The file from my researcher at the force was on the right. “Robert Evans, born in 1958 in Albany, New York. Married to Elena Muir in 1988. Three children—”
Marcy interjected, “We know all that from our preliminary research, don’t we?” “You’re so impatient. I didn’t know his wife’s name—” She interrupted, “Please move down the research.”
“Fine.” I glanced down on the page. “Graduated from Columbia University with a master’s in finance and joined Salomon Brothers right out of school as a trainee…blah, blah, blah. There are a series of complaints filed against him, all of which his company settled with the clients.”
“What type of complaints?” “Some having to do with CMOs, collateralized mortgage obligations—whatever that is, and a couple for unsolicited trades.”
“Go on.” “Yes, boss. Left Salomon to join Spencer and Davis as a senior bond trader in New York; the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission—better known as the SEC—shut down the company after they became insolvent following the bond market debacle in 2008; there are a few months of nothing; and then in 2009, he formed Evans, Albert, and Associates, a hedge fund, until the present.”
“Does it show a list of clients anywhere?” “A partial list: some endowment funds, a pension fund of New Jersey, some private unions, and, ah, a Horatio Stevens
“The U.S. Representative from New York?” “Has to be, right? Too much coincidence if it’s not.” “What else?”
“Hang on. I’m reading something here. It seems Stevens was one of the original investors in the company along with two of my paisans, Vittorio Agostino and Luigi Bellascone.”
“There you go,” Marcy quipped.
“What? Just because they’re Italian, they’re criminals?”
Marcy laughed, “No, silly, but Bellascone has been under federal scrutiny for quite some time. The organized crime division of the FBI has been looking. Money laundering and other hobbies associated with criminals. Don’t take it personal, Mancuso.”
“I won’t. What about Agostino? Ring a bell?” “No, no bells ringing on that name. However, he has the connection to Bellascone. What about finances on Evans?”
“In a second. Elena, his wife, filed for divorce last year. No resolution as of yet. She’s moved out, back to Albany.” “What about finances?”
“Aspettare giovane, aspettare.”
“Thank you for the ‘young lady,’ but I don’t want to wait to hear about the finances. That’s a key element.” “You’ll want to hear about his two mistresses.” “Two? At the same time?”
“No, one at a time; he’s not a superhero.”
“More like a super asshole.”
“From two thousand and nine—there was Maria Christina from Queens, and Katerina Rostova—both models and obviously, Russians.”
“Still active with Katerina?”
“It would appear so, yes.”
“Where does she live?
“Upper West Side. Riverside South Apartments.” “Wait, that’s where Melody lives.”
“Is that interesting or what?”
“Who did this research for you, Agnes?”
“This part, yes.”
“Did she research Katerina?”
“She did according to what she wrote here, but it says she found nothing on Katerina. Agnes added a note saying it seems as if this lady didn’t exist prior to this.”
“Illegal immigrant?” Marcy asked.
“Maybe a mail-order bride from Russia.”
“More like a mail-order mistress,” she wisecracked. “Let’s analyze the finances,” I said, changing topic.
“Top one percenters, but currently collateralized up the kazoo. Everything he owns is pledged to loans: second mortgage, credit lines, credit cards, private loans, and his stock portfolio has been getting margin calls. This brother is broke—living on borrowed time, I’d say. Shit, all these guys are candidates for suicide, if you ask me.”
“Okay, so we know the pressure is on. Business going down the tubes, wife asking for divorce and alimony, mistress in distress. Which leads us to Parker’s insurance payment to the partners as a temporary stay of execution, wouldn’t you say?”
“Definitely a motive there. But whatever the amount, it doesn’t feel like it’d cover their problems. I think they’re much bigger.” I said, shaking my head.
“I know; that’s why I said, ‘temporary.’ These guys are short-term thinkers, putting out fires one at a time.” “Your investigation needs to zero in on a Ponzi scheme. ‘Cause if there is one, then the new client, Parker’s client, is putting in two hundred million dollars into their coffers. That solves a lot of problems if they commingle that money with their own account.”
“Speaking of that, like I said before, the pushback is strong. Last time the SEC investigated, they gave them a clean bill of health.”
“Perhaps the SEC should hire another group of investigators. You know what I mean?”
“You want to move on to Albert’s?”
“Not really, I’m tired. We have all day tomorrow. It’s Saturday.” “What do you want to do?”
“Take my pants off, as a start.”
“And then what, lover?” Marcy said, in a soft, sensual tone.
“Eat something, ‘cause I’m starving,” I said, getting up from the table and heading to the fridge. Marcy got up and went to the bedroom; she mumbled something in Spanish I didn’t want to translate. I was standing in front of the fridge, which happens to be one of my favorite pastimes, when I felt this incredible warm embrace from behind me. My mind immediately registered nakedness, as my middle back was the recipient of two warm and large breasts.
I had to turn, but I had just put in my mouth a large piece of blue cheese that has a distinct smell. Swallowing fast, I turned and embraced Marcy, but avoided kissing her, instead putting my chin on top of her head. I pushed down the last vestige of b
lue cheese. She began unbuttoning my shirt and kissing my chest, with her incredibly sensuous lips. Il mio uomo principale, which would be “my main man,” was reaching maximum height.
I picked Marcy up and sat her on the granite counter, still avoiding kissing her on the mouth. I began kissing her in a slow and meticulous descent starting with her neck and moving down to her breasts and to lower regions of her anatomy, finally reaching the final destination.
She whacked me on the head. Pulling me up and wrapping those two incredible specimens around my face, she said, “
Idiota, take me to the bedroom.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Day 5
Saturday Breakfast was served next to me. Two eggs over easy, bacon, hash browns, a plain bagel toasted with cream cheese, and café con leche. Everything I could wish for in a partner, I had in Marcy. She was kind, loving, caring, considerate, a hell of a lover, sweet, spunky, funny, and bilingual. What else was there, right? Plus, she wore a gun to work. Somehow, I had to convince her to get over some fear she hadn’t fully shared with me and to tie the knot with me this year.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Marcy said, as I cleared my eyes and tried to focus. “Good morning,” I replied between yawns. “Are you still tired?”
“You’re not?”
“I am, but there’s work to do before your brother comes over.” “Father Dom is coming over?”
“Unless you have another brother I haven’t met.”
“Let me help you with the house cleaning. I’ll do the cleaning, if you do the rest.” “Deal. Then shower and shave.”
“S and S maybe, but no shaving, it’s Saturday.” “Hurry up. Your brother is coming,” she repeated.
I finished my wonderful breakfast and hurried with the cleaning chores, and then I jumped in the shower after the first “S” in the routine. A few minutes later, I came into the bedroom wearing a tee shirt and boxer shorts. Normally, I don’t wear boxers, but on weekends, I give the boys room to hang around and relax after a stressful week. I made the bed and straightened the apartment impeccably, with no signs of lovemaking. Candles were lit: Marcy was delighted as if she was expecting the crew from Better Homes and Gardens to come in for an inspection.
