by Owen Parr
“I think your brother would prefer if you wore pants,” she said, glancing at my hairy legs, as I walked into the living room.
“Right, wouldn’t want him to think we’re sleeping together or anything,” I said, walking back to the bedroom to locate some pants. I heard a knock on the door as I slipped on some jeans.
“Welcome, Father, how is your morning?” Marcy said, opening the front door.
“Good morning to you both,” Dominic replied. I walked out into the living room again and gave my brother a hug, as was our custom. “I’ve been thinking about this. Was Agnes at Mass this morning?”
Marcy added, “Oh, I’ve heard she goes every morning to six-thirty Mass.” “Weekdays at six thirty in the morning, yes. Weekends, I say Mass at eight and nine, and yes, she’s there every single day.”
I had to know: “Does she stay for the double feature on weekends?”
Father Dom smiled. “No, she goes to the nine a.m. Mass on the weekends.”
“How about a café con leche, Father?” Marcy asked. “Sounds great. Did you guys go over all the files last night?”
“No, bro. Only one. We got interrupted by this guy who came up—” Dom said, “I don’t understand.”
Marcy shouted from the kitchen, “Joey!”
“We wanted to wait for you to go over the rest. We know you love this part of the investigation,” I explained. “Guys, sit down,” Marcy said, setting down Dom’s café con leche and an espresso for me on the dining room table.
I brought Dom up to date on the Evans file. He was appropriately curious about the investors that had helped fund the company, particularly my paisans. Marcy covered the information she had on Signore Bellascone.
We then went to the Albert file. Thomas Albert III. Almost identical to Evans: both started at Salomon, et cetera. Albert had graduated from Harvard with a master’s in international finance. They both worked at Spencer and Davis after life at Salomon until they opened the doors to their own hedge fund. Unlike Evans, Albert had no known mistresses and seemed to be happily married to Lillian Stanley, a socialite from Connecticut whose family was also on the list of one percenters; old money from the lumber industry.
Other than the connection to Agostino, Bellascone, and Congressman Stevens, the three original investors in the hedge fund, there wasn’t anything that jumped at us from Albert’s file.
Dom asked, “What about the Albert finances?” “Good question,” I replied. “He’s tapped out also, like Evans. Mortgaged up to his neck, for lack of a better word. He told you his lease was up on his Bentley, but it was actually repossessed. Their only hope for survival, meaning the partners, is the insurance money on Parker. If they can commingle the new infusion of cash from the client, the whale’s two hundred million, they’re set for a long time.”
“Marcy, what are you doing on your end with these two?” asked Dominic.
“I’m on Evans and Albert like black beans on white rice, Father,” replied Marcy, smiling.
“You’ve been hanging around Joey too long, Marcy,” Dom said.
A bit embarrassed, Marcy added, “I’ve also opened a file on Mrs. Parker’s father, Andrew Huffing.” “How come?” Dom asked. “Just had a gut feeling about the sale of his business a couple of years ago,” Marcy began. “It turns out he sold his business—a chain of sporting goods stores—to a Mexican company. And, wouldn’t you know it, that company has ties to a Mexican drug cartel in Los Angeles.”
“That’s why she’s a special agent,” I said, rubbing her hair.
Father Dom smiled. “You’re talking about money laundering?” “Precisely,” Marcy said, giving me a dirty look and fixing her hair with her left hand. “Forty million dollars for five stores seems a bit exaggerated. The revenue from the five stores, even adding inventory, would have been good for maybe a twenty million dollars’ sales price. Not forty million.”
“This just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?” Father Dom asked. “Anything in Huffing’s past?” Marcy went on. “Nothing special, graduated with a business degree from Florida State, worked for a manufacturer of athletic socks, then joined Sports Authority as a top executive. He opened his stores, Andrew’s Sporting Goods, in 2010 until he sold them two years ago. Divorced, two daughters.”
“And you’re still investigating?” Dom asked. “My unit is, yes. We’re researching the sale of his stores and the cartel connection.” “I want to get to Melody. As you’ve been speaking, I’ve read her file and, wow. I hope she has a hundredthousand-mile warranty, ‘cause this young lady has been around the block a few times,” I said.
Father Dom removed his white collar and opened the top button of his black shirt. “What do you have?” he asked.
I was smiling as I began discussing Melody. “Born Susan Ashen in San Diego in 1986, which makes her thirty years old. She’s worth about four million dollars as we speak.”
“Four million?” queried Dom, excitedly. Marcy quipped, “That’s a lot of modeling.” I went on, “No record of schooling, although I think she graduated from Grifter U. with a magna cum laude. As Susan Ashen, at twenty-two she was the mistress of a movie producer in Hollywood, California. Unnamed in this file. Later, at twenty-seven, she changed her name to Suzanne McIntyre. Married and divorced a year later to a William Molden. She picked up over two million in a settlement from this dude. Then she drifted east to New York, and guess what?” I asked, raising my head and opening my eyes wide in anticipation of a guess from my two admiring fans.
Not seeing anyone take a guess, I said, “Ready?” “Please go on, without the drama,” brother Dom said. “You guys are no fun. Mrs. McIntyre became Susan Osmond and hooked up with Vittorio Agostino, who, bad boy that he was then and is presently, was married at the point they met. Here’s the real killer: he’s currently married, having been together WITH THE SAME WIFE for thirty years.”
“Agostino was one of the original investors with Bellascone and the New York Congressman Stevens, in Evans and Albert, correct?” Dom asked, again rhetorically, I think.
“Sí, padre,” I replied. “The same.” Father Dominic and Marcy both sat there, flabbergasted. Dom finally said, “So our Melody becomes a mistress to Agostino, then to Parker? My goodness.”
“It looks that way, yes. Or, she is with both at the same time,” I replied.
Marcy asked, “Could Melody be a plant by Agostino, and the partners, to keep tabs on Parker?” I responded, “That’s a possibility. The partners are concerned that Jonathan Parker may know too much about their operations. So, they find a way to hook up Melody with Parker."
Marcy sat back, "And at the same time we have a mystery Russian mistress with Evans, in the same building?"
I added, “Remember when President Kennedy was rumored to have Marylyn Monroe as a mistress, and at the same time she was allegedly the mistress of a Mafia boss?”
Marcy exclaimed, “Yes, yes. She was also supposedly involved with Robert Kennedy and Sinatra. Seems our Melody not only looks like Marylyn, but she is following in her footsteps.”
Father Dom said, "Let's review this a second. We have Evans with the Russian mistress. Then we have Agostino tied to Melody when she went by a different name, and then Melody becomes Parker's mistress. Is that correct?"
I turned to Dom, "That's what it looks like. And all in the same building."
Dom added, "We may need to hire Agnes, her research is incredible." “We can’t afford Agnes unless we get some paying clients. Besides, she makes too much money, and she loves working pro bono for us. But, you’re going to have to cut her some slack. Maybe invite her back to the rectory and share some wine with her sometime.”
“If I may change the subject,” Dom began, “Marcy, is the FBI eyeing Agostino?” “The FBI’s organized crime task force has been looking at Bellascone. No reports of any investigation on Agostino, at least that I’m aware off,” replied Marcy.
I went on. “So, the question is, how is our Melody tied to Parker, and did
someone plant her there?” “And how does this all tie into Parker’s and Kathy’s deaths?” Marcy asked.
Dom got up from the table and walked around. “Marcy, you have a beautiful place here.”
“Thank you, Father,” Marcy replied, poking me on the arm.
“Just beautiful,” Dom repeated. Walking back to the table,
he asked, “What about Kathy’s boyfriend? Anything new on that?” Marcy replied, “I’m calling the receptionist on Monday. She was a bit snippy with me, but I’ll call her nonetheless.”
“Let me do that,” Dom said. “She was nice to me. Carla, I think her name is.” I probed, “Why wait until Monday? Call the office now. The way things are going there, they’re probably working around the clock to contact the clients that dealt with Parker.”
“Hand me the phone and the number,” Dom replied. We had our work cut out for us. There were so many things to follow up on that we needed arms like octopuses to deal with everything on our plates. Finally, Father Dom hung up with Carla.
I asked, “What did she say?”
“She spoke softly, but I got a number for Kathy’s boyfriend.” “Call him up,” I said.
“Did he call for me or you at the bar?” Dom asked.
“I remember Patrick saying he asked for both, so go ahead and call him.”
“I feel horrible; he’s still mourning,” Dominic said. “Bro, I can call him. But who better than a priest at a time like this?”
“I suppose you’re right. Okay, I’ll call him.” Marcy was at the kitchen preparing some tuna sandwiches for all of us. I asked, “Marcy, is anyone working this case during the weekend at your place?”
“I’m sure we have some people on it. Why?” she replied.
“We need to wrap this up soon. The longer it takes, the more watered down it could get.”
“There’s a lot to do. Murders sometimes take years to solve,” Marcy added. “Not for Mancuso, they don’t,” I replied.
“What are you going to do?” She asked.
“I have some leads I want to follow up on. Then, I need to head over to the bar and help Mr. Pat open up. You?” “I’ll head to the office and work on this also. No sense staying here.” “Are you stopping by the bar later?”
“I’ll call you. Sleep here tonight. Tomorrow is Sunday.” “Sleep?”
Mischievously, she said, “You know what I mean.”
Dom came into the kitchen. “Arturo, Kathy’s boyfriend, is going to meet me at the bar later. Poor guy, he’s taking it hard.”
“You have an Uber waiting?” I asked Dom.
“Calling one now.”
“Excellent. We’ll share one back to the city,” I said. “Later,
amiga. ”
“What about your tuna sandwiches?”
“Thank you for those. Here, we’ll eat them on the ride back,” I said.
“Bye, Father,” Marcy said.
“Be well,” he replied. Turning to me, he asked, “What’s our next move?”
“Let’s talk in the car.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO We sat in the back of this Chevy Caprice, a big-ass car, and comfortable. We ate our tuna sandwiches and spoke little.
Father Dom finally broke the silence. “Where to now?”
“I’m following up on a lead to my last case with the force.”
“The one that got you kicked out of the force?” “The same, the homeless John Doe that was murdered,” I said, noticing the driver eyeing me via the front rearview mirror.
“You miss being on the force, don’t you?” “To be honest, I do, but I don’t miss the red tape, all the crap, and hoops you have to jump through these days.”
“Are you satisfied with what you’re doing?” “Man, I love working with you, and I love you,” I said, as again the driver looked at me. I said to the driver, “Father Dominic here is my brother, blood brother, capire paisan?”
The driver replied, “Non ho detto nulla, signore.” “No, but I know what you were thinking. Just mind the road.” “Yes, sir,” he replied, turning his gaze forward. “What did he say?” Dom asked, in a hushed voice. “That he didn’t say anything.”
“How did you know he spoke Italian?”
I touched my hair and whispered, “The grease.” “You’re so full of shit.”
I smiled at Dom. “Listen, I really enjoy working the bar. I never thought I would, but I do. And, having an opportunity to spend time with you is—” I paused “—is a blessing. Besides, now that I don’t wear a gun and hopefully no one is shooting at us, maybe Marcy will come around and you can perform the ceremony at your church.”
“That’s wonderful news. Has she agreed?” “I’m working on it. There’s still something holding her back. Once I know what it is, I’ll overcome it. She’s everything I want, Dom.”
“Let me know if I can help.”
“We’ll have to conspire on that. I like it.” “Back to your old case, what’s up with that?” “My former partner, Lucifer, remember her?” “You mean Lucy? Yes, I do.”
“I spoke to her, and she thinks she’s located the other homeless guy that disappeared after the incident.” “Really, where?” “Somewhere in Jersey. One of her CIs—that’s a confidential informant—has a lead on this guy, the other homeless guy.”
“This was the guy that saw—” he started. I interrupted and opened my eyes, nodding forward with my chin.
“Got it. This is the guy who may have seen these other two characters in the alley behind the 21 Club?” “Correct,” I replied.
“Well, well, that could be interesting.”
“Right? Imagine if we can put all these pieces together and solve not one, not two, but three homicides. We get civilian commendations from the Mayor. Maybe not from the Mayor, if he’s involved,” I said, as we both laughed.
“I’m loving it,” Dom said.
“You ever wish you’d joined the police force?” I asked. Father Dom put his head back and closed his eyes for a second. “I wanted to, real bad. But our mother prayed so hard for me to go into the priesthood. With my grandfather having served in World War II and Brandon in Nam, she felt so lucky that both came back. She didn’t want the anguish of me being close to guns of any kind.”
“Did you actually have a calling? I mean, does He actually call?” “I feel blessed for the work I do and have no regrets whatsoever. Did I have a calling?” he asked, not expecting an answer. Dom does that a lot. He continued, “When you spend your childhood in Catholic schools, the brothers and the sisters— especially the brothers—they’re in constant recruiting mode. They tell you that, in fact, He is calling you every day. You just have to open up your heart and listen, they say. So, between Mom’s prayers, her fears, and the Man calling, I guess I heard something and answered.”
“You think Mom had an ulterior motive?” “What do you mean?”
“Come on. Mom was fifteen when she got married to your dad. You think you were a backseat event somewhere in Brooklyn? And Mom, like me, saw you as our ticket to the Pearly Gates?”
He gazed at me, horrified. Our mother was sacred to both of us. She’d been very young when Dominic was born and became an adult too rapidly. An Irish mother as she was, mom placed paramount importance on her two boys. We were of her life. We were fortunate she was still with us, albeit in Florida.
“Relax, relax. I was just kidding, bro.”
“The problem is, I’ve always suspected that, and I’ve prayed every day that God forgives her, if so.” “Listen, she’ll be going to heaven and meet with your dad, the Master-Sergeant, and my dad, the Mafiosi. Maybe not my dad. He wasn’t related to you, so he doesn’t benefit from having a family member as part of the church.”
“Meaning?” “I’ve always heard that if a member of your family is a priest, nun, or brother, you’re in. No questions asked. It’s like the new express lane at the airport. You’re preapproved and ready to board.”
“So, you think that’s how it works?”
“Do you
know any different?”
“I can’t say that I do, no.”
“There you go.”
Father Dom glanced out the window. I could tell his mind was back on the case. “What are you thinking?” “Joey, we didn’t discuss the background on Adelle Parker or her husband, Jonathan. Anything I need to know?”
“Not much there. Married just the once to Mr. Parker. A middle-class upbringing until the sale of Dad’s business. The only money she has, or had, are the funds her father gave her when he sold the sporting goods business. Active in some charity foundations. A nondescript past or present, for that matter.”
“Was that an outright gift her father gave the sisters?” “No, they—the sisters—were listed as ten-percent owners of the stores. Otherwise, Mr. Huffing would have had a huge gift tax to contend with.”
“So, we still think her motivation could be the funds she’s losing?” “That, and the potential she knew about Melody and the supposed divorce. If that were to happen and she lost her money, she’d be out cold, except for a settlement upon the divorce, of course.”
“But from what you said about Melody, she may not have stuck tight with Mr. Parker to get hitched, right?” “Who knows what her motivation or role was in this mess? Maybe Melody actually fell in love, or maybe it was a setup; Evans and Albert were using her to get to Parker.”
“All those various names she’s had, did she legally change any of them?”
“No, she didn’t. She just took on different identities.”
“What about Jonathan Parker?” “Our victim? Nothing much negative on him. Graduated from the University of Michigan with a degree in finance, attended Wharton Business School, worked for another Wall Street firm for a few years before joining Evans and Albert four or so years ago. No customer complaints, no black marks on his record. I think this guy was pretty straight, other than getting hooked up with our Melody, that is,” I said.
“I’m no psychiatrist, but I really didn’t see this guy to be the type to jump to his death, did you?” inquired Dom.
I thought for a second. “We’ve seen him at the bar a few times, didn’t seem any different than our other Wall Streeters. Yeah, stressed out over his business and the stock market. But then, these guys and gals all appear the same. High energy, outgoing personalities, expensive suits and watches.”
