Murder Has Consequences

by Giacomo Giammatteo

  I stared at him in disbelief. I felt like hitting him, but I didn’t; instead, I lowered my head and turned away. “I’m sorry for what I put you through, Mario Francis Donovan. Truly, I am.”

  He ran up behind me and grabbed my shoulder. “Nicky, I’m sorry for that, but…I need help.”

  I turned. “What?”

  It was Bugs’ turn to lower his head. “I need help. I know it’s a lot to ask, but maybe you could check around with some of the old guys and see if anybody’s heard anything. They’re not going to talk to me but they might talk to you.”

  “What do you think they know?”

  Bugs looked anxious, like he was losing it. “Shit, I don’t know. Maybe nothing, maybe a lot. I know I didn’t kill Bobby, and Borelli is trying to pin it on me. And I know that there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that Bobby Campisi saved fifty grand. That means the money’s the key.”

  “You still haven’t said what you expect me to do.”

  He fidgeted, as if he didn’t want to say it. “I want you to act like a cop. I need you to investigate this case for me and find out who the fuck killed Bobby.”

  I heard him, but didn’t believe what I was hearing. Then I laughed. Loud. “You want me to be a cop?”

  Bugs didn’t say anything, but when I laughed, he did too. “I guess that sounds stupid, huh?”

  I looked at him, the best friend I had in this world, and made up my mind. It didn’t take long. “I’ll do it only if I can deputize Sister Thomas.”

  “Done,” he said.

  I stared, and then I held my hand out to him with a closed fist like we did so many years ago. “Friendship and honor, Bugs.”

  He joined me, and I swear I thought I saw tears in his eyes. “Friendship and honor, Nicky.”

  I punched him in the arm. “Go on, get out of here.”

  As he walked to the car, he called back to me. “Follow the money, Nicky. Follow that money.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Finding Kitty

  Brooklyn, New York

  Lou got to the station early—by his standards—but Sherri was already there and, more importantly, she had coffee made. She handed Lou a cup as he walked into the coffee room. “Here you go, lucky.”

  “Lucky? I haven’t been lucky since I married my wife, thirty years ago.”

  Sherri stopped and stared at him. “That’s so sweet.”

  “That’s what the girls call me—Luigi ‘Sweet Lou’ Mazzetti.”

  “If you keep up your smart talk, I won’t make you coffee any more.”

  “You’ve already spoiled me. I told my wife she’s got competition now.”

  “And what did she say, to let me have you?”

  Lou sipped the coffee, set the cup on the table as if thinking. “Not exactly in those words, but close.”

  “Close?”

  “She wasn’t quite so nice with her language, is what I mean.”

  “That’s what I figured. You ready to head down to the building?”

  “As soon as I’m done with the coffee,” Lou said, and he took out a pad to write notes on. “What do we know so far?”

  “We’ve got that picture. Nothing else except he called her ‘Kitty,’ according to the ex. So that could be what—Kathy, Kate, Catherine, Kathleen? It has to be something like that.”

  “Or it could be just a nickname.” Lou gulped the last sip of coffee and tossed it toward the trash, missing it by at least a few inches.

  “Mazzetti, when are you gonna learn that you can’t play basketball?”

  Lou picked up his cup and dunked it. “Hey, there were a lot of great Italian basketball players.”

  “Name one.”

  Lou looked up to the left, thinking. “There were plenty.”

  “Name just one.”

  “Jerry…or Ernie…I forget his last name, but he was good.”

  “I know. I forget them too, mostly because there weren’t any.”

  Lou headed out the door, Sherri close behind him. “Yeah, well, name me a good black hockey player.”

  “Okay, we’re even. Now can we get to work?”

  Lou laughed as he walked down the steps. “Have I told you lately that I like you, Miller?”

  “Keep reminding me.”

  “As long as you keep driving.”

  “I’ll keep driving just to stay alive, but okay, you’ve got a deal.” Sherri walked out the front door and headed toward the parking lot. “Stay here. I’ll pick you up.”

  As she walked away Mazzetti hollered, “You’re beautiful, Miller.”

  She pulled to the curb a few minutes later, and he got in, tossing his half-smoked cigarette to the gutter. “I hope we find something today. I’m tired of hearing Morreau’s shit.”

  THEY GOT TO THE building in about forty minutes and went inside. Two people were manning a reception desk by the front door. Sherri approached first, showing them the picture of the girl along with her badge. “Detectives Miller and Mazzetti. Have either of you seen this woman before?”

  The first guy, a young, twenty-something guy with pierced ears and a cheap suit shook his head. “Not me, but I’ve only been here a month.” He handed the picture to his partner who took a good look at it. He stared at it, shook his head, then stared some more.

  “I maybe saw her. Check Pierson and Riddle, second floor.”

  Sherri’s eyes lit up. “Thanks. You don’t happen to know her name do you?”

  “Can’t even swear it’s the same girl.”

  “Is it Mr. Riddle?” she asked.

  “And Mr. Pierson,” the guard said.

  Sherri handed him her card. “If you think of anything else…”

  “Yeah, I know, call you. Just like in the movies.”

  “That’s it, just like the movies,” she said, and headed toward the elevators with Lou.

  “Maybe we got lucky,” she said and increased her pace.

  Lou fell a few steps behind her. “Fat chance.”

  Pierson and Riddle’s offices were at the end of the corridor, left of the elevator exit on the second floor. Wide, double doors were the gateway to the executives with “Pierson and Riddle” etched into fine glass—one name for each door.

  Sherri pushed a door open and stepped inside onto plush carpeting. The receptionist desk sat high, making Sherri feel like a third grader going to the teacher’s desk. She showed her badge. “Detectives Miller and Mazzetti here to see Mr. Riddle or Pierson.”

  “Have a seat, please.”

  The lobby chairs were big and stuffy. Sherri took a deep sigh as she sat next to Lou. Even the air seemed stuffy.

  Lou leaned toward her and whispered. “Like the ex said, ‘way out of his league.’”

  “Maybe so. We’ll see.”

  After a fifteen minute wait, a man in a charcoal suit that looked as if it had been pressed ten times burst through a side door, his hand extended as soon as he entered the foyer. His pant cuffs dusted the tops of oxford shoes—purchased this morning from the looks of them—and barely concealed black silk socks.

  “John Mason,” he said. “I’m Mr. Riddle’s assistant.”

  Lou and Sherri stood, expecting to be led to an office or a conference room, but Mason didn’t budge.

  “How may I help you?”

  Sherri handed him a card. “Detectives Miller and Mazzetti. We’re here on an investigation, and we need to ask Mr. Riddle or Mr. Pierson a few questions.”

  Mason smiled, the kind of smile that intimated what a ridiculous request she’d made. “I’m afraid that would be impossible; however, I would be more than happy to answer your questions. What would you like to know?”

  Sherri’s eyes narrowed and her lips pursed.

  Lou stepped forward before she let loose on the guy. “Show him the picture, Detective Miller.”

  She shot Lou a glance like his wife did when he’d had three or four too many beers, but Sherri pulled out the photo and showed it to Mason. “Do you know her? I understand she works here.”
>
  Mason’s eyebrows pitched skyward. “I’ve never seen her before, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t work here. Have you shown this to Anna?” he asked, indicating the receptionist.

  “Not yet.”

  He walked to the desk and laid the picture atop it. “Do you know her, Anna?”

  She immediately shook her head. “She doesn’t work here, Mr. Mason. I’m certain.”

  “Do you have anyone named Katherine or Kathleen here? Anyone who goes by Kitty?”

  “I’ll check,” Anna said, and punched a few keys to bring up a database. “I’ve sorted by first name, checking Katherine and Kathleen with both a ‘c’ and a ‘k’ and nothing comes up. Sorry.”

  Mason turned back to Sherri and Lou with a manufactured smile. “There you go. If she worked here, Anna would surely know. I’m sorry we couldn’t help you.” He started to turn, then did an about-face. “Anything else, detectives?”

  Sherri looked like she wanted to smack him, but instead she smiled. “Nothing, Mr. Mason, thank you.”

  Lou opened the door and led the way down the corridor toward the elevator. “You know, if it’s really been a while since she and Davidoff saw each other, she could be long gone.”

  “Yeah, but right now it’s the only lead we’ve got.”

  Lou punched the elevator button and popped a dry cigarette in his mouth as they waited for it to open.

  “Let’s look at it this way, Mazzetti. The only thing this guy ever did wrong was have an affair. We might as well start with that.”

  “I’ll have Morreau get a few uniforms down here. If ‘Kitty’ still works here, we’ll find her.”

  ***

  LISA JACKSON DRESSED FOR work, wearing what Tom had picked out for her—a tight-fitting skirt that he said massaged her ass every time she moved, and a blouse that showed the outline of a sexy bra. She tried to convince him that it was inappropriate for her office, but he would hear nothing of it, said if she was going to act like a whore she might as well dress like one. Maybe Tom was right. Maybe she was just a whore.

  She hated dressing this way, but she did like the way the men turned their heads and eyed her, and the way it brought smiles to their faces and made them go out of their way to do things for her. Already this morning, two guys nearly got into a fight offering their seat to her, and another one, sitting across from her, strained his neck trying to get a peek up her skirt.

  Lisa was yanked back to reality by a sharp pain in between her legs, from where Tom abused her. She had to get away from him.

  But how? He has Mom.

  As much as Lisa fought with her mother, she couldn’t let her die. Lisa had brought her mother to New York from Texas, convinced her to move when she didn’t want to. And no matter what, Lisa had no doubt about whether Tom would kill her mother. He never liked her to begin with.

  Lisa worked on plans during the ride to work, but when her stop came up, she still had nothing. She got off the subway and headed into work, getting on a crowded elevator. An older guy in a light brown suit turned away when she caught him looking at her.

  Lisa worked on getting into a different frame of mind. She had to be convincing or her mother would die. She smiled at the gentleman next to her. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

  He turned back, the look on his face complete surprise. “Yes it is,” he managed to get out in a feeble attempt at making conversation.

  A woman about her age moved aside, as if Lisa had a disease. When the door opened on the third floor, Lisa inched closer to the man. “I haven’t seen you before. New to the building?”

  “In fact, I am, yes. I just moved to Starks and Company. I came down from the Boston office.”

  “Well, good luck, New York takes a lot of getting used to.” She let her arm brush his, sure that it sent a jolt through his body. Just as he was about to say something the door opened for the fourth floor. “This is me,” she said, and waited for the people in front of her to exit.

  “What a coincidence. This is my floor, too.”

  As she stepped out she almost gasped. A cop stood in the corridor and appeared to be looking over everyone who came out. Lisa took him in with a glance. It didn’t take her long to figure out what to do. The cop looked to be in his thirties and he wore a wedding ring. She could make his dick hard in three seconds, and once his dick was hard his brain would cease to work. She continued her conversation with the older guy, walking out alongside him, and she made sure to swing her hips a little more than usual. If that cop was like most men, he’d be looking at her ass. Lisa felt certain that wouldn’t be on a police snapshot.

  Thankfully Starks and Company was the first door in the corridor. Lisa lost her companion and ducked into the restroom in a panic.

  What is a cop doing here? Are they looking for me? How did they find me? She had to call Tom. No, she couldn’t do that. What if they were tracing her calls? If Tom so much as saw a cop, he’d kill both her and her mother. Lisa knew one thing for sure: she had to get out of this building.

  CHAPTER 22

  Barstools and Secrets

  Wilmington, Delaware

  I thought about Bugs and the burden he put on me. More than once it pissed me off, him leaving town and expecting me to pick up the pieces and put them back together. It wasn’t my brother-in-law that got killed, and it wasn’t my ass on the hook for it.

  I measured the last wall for the new condos, checked it against the blueprint, then confirmed the height of the building for a final estimate. As much as I cursed what Bugs asked me to do, I had to admit that somewhere inside me, maybe deep inside, some primal emotion wanted to do it. I’d always been a puzzle solver as a kid, and I loved figuring things out. What was murder but a big puzzle, the most challenging one of all. After checking the job one last time, I headed back to the office to work on the bid. Every now and then, I’d get an idea and write it on a separate notepad I designated for my detective work. I laughed. How about that shit—detective work, me, Nicky Fusco. If only the guys at the smoke shop could see me.

  The afternoon passed slowly. Eagerness to do something else seemed to make time stand still, or at least that’s what Sister Thomas always said, and I had come to learn that most of what she said was either true, or had so much truth in it that it wasn’t worth arguing over the differences. There were a lot of truths like that in this world. People just had to take the time to realize it. I remembered a line by one of the old plumbers I used to play cards with. I was looking for a job when I came back to Wilmington, and I asked what it would take to be a plumber.

  He looked at me, and, as serious as a heart attack said, “All you need to know is water and shit both flow downhill. Understand that, and you can be a plumber.”

  I knew plumbing was a little more complicated than that, but in essence he had it right. Like most things, once they’re broken down they tend to be simple. That’s the way I looked at this case. I laughed. Case. As if I were a real detective. Anyway, I figured to attack it like Sister Thomas always said, from the beginning. Bobby Campisi was last seen getting his ass kicked in Teddy’s bar—so Teddy’s bar was where I’d start.

  Angie made polpettone for dinner, a Neapolitan meatloaf that tasted no more like an American meatloaf than a filet did a flank steak. She made her polpettone with veal and ground beef, and stuffed it with prosciutto and mozzarella, then sprinkled a healthy dose of Parmigiano on it as she cooked. Angie had learned all of Mamma Rosa’s secrets and made everything taste good. She served the polpettone with a side dish of sliced tomatoes, onions, and cucumbers, mixed with olive oil and garlic, and sprinkled with pepper. Pencil-thin asparagus topped with orange Agrumato topped off the meal. It tasted so good I didn’t want to quit eating.

  Rosa excused herself as soon as dinner was over and went to her room, swearing it was for homework, though both Angie and I knew it was to talk on the phone.

  Angie looked at me as Rosa went up the stairs. “Did we talk as much as these kids?”

  “We didn’t have c
ell phones, remember?”

  “Things were sure different then.”

  I grabbed my plate, and Rosa’s, and took them to the sink, rinsing them with hot water. Then I grabbed the scrub brush and started washing. “You dry tonight, Angie.”

  “I can wash,” she said. “I don’t mind.”

  “Yeah, but I do. You’re too slow.”

  She smacked me with that damn wooden spoon which seemed to appear out of nowhere. “That’s because I actually clean the dishes. I don’t just rinse them.”

  I handed her the brush and the dishcloth while I grabbed her towel. “Okay, I surrender.”

  About halfway through the dishes, I stopped. “I’ve got to go out tonight. I hope you don’t mind.”

  She looked at me, not with suspicious eyes, but questioning ones. “Where?”

  “I’m doing a favor for Bugs. Trying to help him figure out who killed Bobby. He had to go back to New York, and Borelli seems set on blaming Bugs for this.”

  “What can you do?” Irritation had entered her voice.

  “Not much. Maybe ask a few questions, see what I can find out.”

  She turned off the water and placed her hand on her hip. I knew I was in trouble as soon as that happened, so I prepared for it. “Angie, I owe Bugs. He’d do it for me; besides, I won’t be long. I’m going to Teddy’s to ask some of the regulars what they saw that night.”

  Her eyes got hard. “And that’s all? Nowhere else?”

  “Nowhere else.”

  She turned the water back on hot and swatted at me. “All right, get out of here, and don’t wake me when you get back. I’ve got to get up early.”

  I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re the best, baby.”

  “Remember that, Mr. Fusco.”

  TEDDY’S WAS MORE CROWDED than I thought it would be for a weeknight. The lot was full and half of the street on the side. I parked down the block and walked up a narrow sidewalk stained by decades of drunks puking, tossing gum, and crushing their cigarettes on it. A good pressure washing would bring it into the land of the living, but I knew Teddy wasn’t paying for that, or any cleaning, for that matter. The light bulb in his outside lamp was burnt out, had been a week ago, I remembered now, but the neon sign in the window flashing “Teddy’s Place” provided enough light to see. Ever since Bugs unofficially deputized me I realized I’d been training for a job like this. When I was a shooter my life depended on paying close attention to everything. Detective work wasn’t much different. With that in mind, I cleared my mind of memories of the bar. I wanted to see it for the first time as I walked in.