Ice Cream Man

by Charles Puccia

  “Sorry to hear about your boy, Vinnie. Terrible shame.” Paganno’s voice was a snake’s hiss.

  “Thanks, Dom. If I could only get the bastards that did this to him.”

  If you did, you’d find yourself under the new extension to the Jersey Pike. Paganno’s thoughts reflected what he’d heard through the underworld grapevine about Vinnie’s hit.

  “Well, Dom, I have a favor to ask, for a friend of Vinnie’s.”

  In traffic cop fashion, Paganno raised his hand. “Look, I’m not getting involved with whoever attacked Vinnie. That’s not my thing, just so you know.”

  “Yeah, fine. This has nothing to do with Vinnie. It’s about his boss. He was framed for sexual harassment and lost his job. This is payback. The idea is to plant heroin in the guy’s car, then have him arrested. We want him to pay off the arresting officer to let him go free.”

  “And that would be me.” Paganno grinned, his fingers moving around his cup.

  “Yup, you’d be the arresting officer. Make up an excuse to let the guy go. Sweet talk him, you know the drill… not destroy his life. You’ll take the shit and have it destroyed, glad to get it off the street. The guy agrees to a misdemeanor. Make some bullshit charge. There’ll be a woman, too. Tell her she’s an accomplice, so you’ll need her contact information. We don’t need it, but just take it. It’s important.”

  “And what’s in it for me?” His hand pointed to his chest as he looked out the window to his “old” BMW.

  “Twenty large and the heroin’s yours, making an additional thirty grand, maybe more. Let me recap. You stop a guy—I’ll give you place, time, location of the shit in the car. You issue him and his woman companion warnings, taking both IDs. Your take is twenty plus the bag. Your part’s done.” Big John swiped his palms across each other.

  Paganno’s fingers tapped the table and his head swiveled from side to side as he spoke with a slow cadence. “If I come short on the thirty for the shit, you make up the difference. And half the twenty up front.”

  “No problem.”

  Paganno left, leaving Big John to pick up the tab, mumbling, “Fucking asshole.”

  Chapter 49

  Chat

  Freshly cut flowers matched the room in this condo that was bigger than any Blanca had ever known. She’d been surprised by Joe’s phone call, and puzzled enough not to tell anyone. Her high heels clipped the hardwood floor as she took small steps to where Vinnie was sitting in a leather armchair beside a window view overlooking Central Park.

  “Aw, Blanca, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous.” Vinnie stood, hobbling on crutches.

  “Please, don’t exert yourself.” Tears streamed down Blanca’s smiling face. Of course everyone at DV&N had been told that Vinnie had awoken, but seeing him was a shock.

  Joe steadied Vinnie. “Actually, sweetie, it’s good for him. When his casts come off I’ll make him really exert those atrophied muscles. I’m here just to check for emotional shock. I’ll leave in a few minutes.”

  “Yeah, get a whip while you’re at it.” Vinnie stumbled as he moved to kiss Blanca’s cheeks. Blanca’s crying continued unabated.

  “Hey, I’m the emotionally unstable one.” Vinnie’s hand wiped away his own tears, hiding his smile.

  “I’m sorry, I’m just so happy to see you. Shareen and Maria and the whole gang send their love. They’ll want to visit, but I was told not to say anything.”

  Blanca turned to Joe. “Mr. Malich, when can they visit?”

  “Honey, it’s Joe. Soon, but for now let’s not broadcast Vinnie’s location. I’m leaving. Vinnie, keep your sweet ass calm.”

  “Fuck you, Joe.” Vinnie grinned.

  “I’ll take a rain check on that,” Joe replied as he left. He laughed, closing the door behind him.

  “Wow, Vinnie. He’s gorgeous. Is something going on between you?”

  “Ah… not really.”

  Blanca took a seat on a couch, removing her shoes and sitting on her tucked legs. Their conversation began with a mundane review of Vinnie’s health and Blanca’s update on her family life. But finally Blanca steered the conversation back to Joe.

  “Are you sure you two aren’t an item?”

  “Nah, that’s just Joe.”

  “But there’s someone, isn’t there? I can tell. I’m not wrong.”

  “Well… Joe’s desirable, but…” Vinnie stammered and shook his head. “Okay, the thing is… I think I’ve fallen for Ben. You’ve heard me talk about him? Dan’s wife’s trainer? But I’m not sure if he feels the same.”

  Blanca’s hand touched Vinnie’s lips.

  “Fuck, Blanca, I’m always getting mixed messages. The funny thing is, Ben’s everything I dislike in a man, physically I mean. He’s a muscle-bound monster. I can’t explain.”

  “You’re doing fine.”

  “You’ll meet him soon. He asked to speak with you, which is the real reason you’re here, if you want the truth. I asked for you before—I can’t tell you how good it is to see you—but they always told me it was too soon.”

  “Why would Ben want to talk to me?”

  Vinnie picked up his coffee, took one sip, then another, then a third. A typical Vinnie stalling technique—one Blanca had seen him use at their inner-circle coffee klatch.

  “He has questions about DV&N. Things Dan wants to know but for legal reasons can’t ask.”

  Blanca nodded sideways, then took a breath. “Tell me more about Ben,” she said.

  Vinnie’s hand was on his chest. “Ben has a heart of gold. He’s sensitive, kind, generous… geez, I’m making him sound like a fuckin’ saint. Our conversations are interesting, too. Ben’s so comfortable talking to me, like he’s been doing it a long time. He’s doesn’t hold back on personal stuff, either.”

  “I can’t wait to meet him. Is he gorgeous, like Joe?”

  “To be honest, no. He doesn’t have Joe’s pretty face—not that he’s ugly. I’m guessing the steroids changed his head. He wears baggy clothing: polar bear chic. His arms stretch his T-shirt. I prefer him in long sleeves to cover the disgusting veins up and down his arms.” Vinnie shuddered. “It’s horrible. Ben’s shorter than Joe, maybe five-ten. Did I mention he’s a professional bodybuilder?”

  “No. And wow, Vinnie, you’re right: he’s not your type. Is it your concussion?” Blanca laughed. “I remember how much you bad-mouthed muscle guys like your brother, calling them freaks. Hell, you give us girls shit if we admire a well-built man.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Back at you.”

  Vinnie smiled. “But the thing is, there’s so much more to Ben. He talks about movies, music, and fuckin’ opera. He goes to the Met. Reads real books without pictures.”

  There was a three-knock cadence on the door. Even though it was his condo, Ben always knocked.

  “Speak of the devil,” Vinnie said. “Come in!”

  Ben stepped inside and walked straight to Vinnie, kissing him on both cheeks the way Ellen had instructed. With his hand outstretched, he turned to Blanca. “Hi, I’m Ben Hausen. You must be Blanca. I’ve heard so much about you; I’m very pleased to finally meet you.”

  Blanca stuck out her hand to Ben tentatively, the way she might test bathtub water temperature.

  “See, he’s different,” Vinnie said. “Ben, bring a chair over so Blanca can get used to having a gorilla in the room.”

  Vinnie grinned as Ben pinkie-carried a chair over.

  “If I’m interrupting, I can come back,” Ben said.

  “Nope, we were expecting you. Blanca knows you want to speak with her.”

  Blanca looked to Ben and said with a soft voice, “I’m sorry for staring. I’ve seen pictures of bodybuilders, but never close up… well, from any distance, I guess. I’m sorry if I’m being rude.”

  “Happens all the time. I’m used to it, like most bodybuilders, which is why we don’t parade around half dressed, unless you’re on Venice Beach or Santa Monica. Us New Yorkers are less exhibitionist. Plus—wron
g weather.”

  Without hesitation, Blanca quizzed Ben. He gave a rundown of his stats: two hundred eight pounds normal, two hundred forty-five in competition. Ben pointed to his flexed arm. “Twenty-two inches.” He moved closer for Blanca to touch.

  “Holy crap, it’s so hard.”

  “Me too,” Vinnie whispered to Blanca, then watched her grin spread.

  “Should I leave?” Ben said. Vinnie and Blanca both shook their heads. “Okay, it’s between you. Changing the subject, Blanca, I asked to see you about DV&N and what happened to Vinnie and Dan. Is that okay with you?”

  “Of course.”

  Ben asked Blanca to relate the circumstances under which she discovered Dan with Linda on the floor in her boss’s office. When Blanca finished, Ben looked to Vinnie.

  “Vinnie, would you mind if I take Blanca with me to the kitchen? I need my afternoon protein shake.”

  The surprise was spray-painted across Vinnie’s face.

  Moving his head closer to Vinnie, Ben said, “I know this seems strange, but trust me. Can you do that?”

  Vinnie stood and patted Ben’s shoulder, muttering, “Of course I trust you, and always will, my love.”

  Using his crutch, Vinnie shuffled back to his bed. Blanca stood and took Ben’s hand. On their way out, Blanca smiled at Vinnie and mouthed, “Bad boy.” Vinnie stuck up his middle finger.

  In the kitchen, Ben poured himself a protein drink and gave Blanca a glass of sparkling water. With a single swallow, Ben finished his drink, then sat.

  “Blanca, we don’t know each other, but I know Vinnie thinks the world of you. After we’d gotten to know each other better, I was going to talk to you about my feelings for Vinnie… how much I like him. I mean, really like him. Then he goes and says that. I’m not sure Vinnie likes me the way I like him.” Ben stopped. “Excuse me. I need a minute.”

  He rose to get water. “Okay, that’s an issue for later. The reason I wanted to see you, and Vinnie shouldn’t hear this yet for reasons I won’t go into, is to ask about your boss. My question is: can you tell me the next time Bill Barrington and Linda Lords will be together?”

  Blanca made a cross with her index fingers. “Are you a sorcerer? How’d you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Linda arrived from Paris last night. Too soon, since she’d only left New York days after Christmas.”

  “Why’s that too soon? Business people travel all the time.”

  “True, but Linda needs to settle into her Paris job. The even odder part is that Bill made the request—almost a demand. I remember, because he had me make the arrangements just after Vinnie came out of his coma and we were all cheering in the office.”

  Ben shook his head slightly. “Well, doesn’t matter why she’s here. All I need to know is when and where Bill and Linda will be together outside the office. Can you find out?”

  “Is the Pope Catholic? I know they’ll be in Linda’s hotel room, screwing themselves silly. Sorry. Is that too crude?”

  Ben smiled. “Anywhere else besides the hotel?”

  “I’ve made Bill a reservation this Friday at Bel Jour France. It’s his favorite. I hear the food is fantastic, Michelin star-rated. Expensive, like a month’s rent.” Blanca smiled. “He’ll take Linda.”

  “Is that it?”

  “Well, Linda departs the following Wednesday, so there probably isn’t much time for other get-togethers, other than at her hotel.”

  “Can you get me the details on the restaurant, and let me know if there are any changes? And say nothing to anyone, Blanca. It’s important no one knows I’ve asked.”

  Chapter 50

  Valet Parking

  After serving beers to Big John and Jack, Dan began. “Barrington arrives after ten, so wait until eleven. He drives a black Mercedes XL and parks it on level two, space number four.”

  Dan handed Jack the Bloomingdale’s bag. Jack removed the smaller plastic bag and placed it in the pocket of his leather jacket, then laughed.

  “Pops, can you see us on Cropsey Avenue with a fuckin’ Bloomingdale’s bag. Might as well be a fuckin’ queer like Vinnie.” He laughed again.

  Big John raised his arm as if to slap his son. Dan stood to intervene, but Big John just growled, “Shut the fuck up.”

  Instructions were relayed to Officer Paganno: Friday, Bel Jour France, Mercedes XL.

  ****

  The Hawthorne Building’s brightly lit garage made Big John wary. He really preferred garages with forty-watt bulbs spaced fifty feet apart.

  On the second level of the stairwell, he cracked open the door, stopped, and listened. Footsteps were headed in his direction. Big John signaled Jack to descend another flight. A few minutes passed with no sound of entry into the stairwell, which confused Big John. Jack waited while his father went to investigate—it would be better to be alone if spotted, making less of an impression if someone was later questioned by the cops.

  The reason why no one had entered the stairwell became obvious as Big John walked farther into the garage: there was a bank of elevators just around the corner from the stairs. A short all-clear whistle signaled Jack, who climbed the stairs two at a time.

  Bill’s Mercedes was parked in bay number four. Amateurs found high-end cars difficult to break into—but not Jack. He’d attended Attica’s Auto Theft 101, which was given by professionals with PhDs in crime.

  The Mercedes trunk was quickly breached using a specialty tool Jack had acquired from a cellmate’s friend on the outside. Big John wrapped the plastic bag in a chamois rag he found inside the tire well. Once the heroin was secured behind the spare wheel, Big John wiped down the trunk; they’d worn gloves, but it never hurt to take extra precautions.

  Then they slipped away to inform Officer Paganno of the chamois rag detail.

  ****

  Bel Jour France: gourmet dinners at gourmet prices. The bill was for three hundred dollars, including fifty for wine, thirty for pre-dinner cocktail, and thirty for after-dinner cognac. But that was pocket change to Bill; after all, he had a big payday in his future.

  As he pointed the valet to his car, Bill was imagining his fantasy night with Linda. Linda spotted the cop first.

  “Bill, something’s wrong. There’s a policeman by your car. Maybe you shouldn’t drive until he goes away.”

  “I can handle my liquor, don’t worry.” Bill slurred his words. “What’s he doing?”

  Brushing past the confused valet, Bill strode straight toward the officer. “Hey, officer, what do you want?”

  Bill’s arrogant tone pleased Officer Dominic Paganno. He recognized this privileged voice, a big shot’s voice. Paganno smiled at Bill the way cheetahs smile at prey.

  “Sir, is this your car?” Officer Paganno’s voice reflected fifteen years of dealing with the goddamn public.

  “Yes, it is. What’s this about?”

  “Your license plate is hanging off. The lot attendant spotted it. For a car of this quality, it might mean an attempted theft.” Paganno waited. No response. “Or maybe someone stole yours and these are substitutes. I’ll need to confirm.”

  Jack had loosened the license plate screws while John was stashing the chamois. Paganno had then completed Jack’s handiwork, bending the plate while Bill and Linda were inside swirling their Courvoisier.

  “It’s mine. You can move along.”

  Dismiss me, you prick? This is going to be easy and fun.

  “All the same, I’ll need to verify,” Paganno said. “Your license and registration, please.”

  “This is bullshit. It’s fine.”

  “Bill, just do it and get this over with.” Linda’s voice quivered.

  “Yes, Bill, do what the lady says.” First names were hot buttons for privileged assholes.

  “Screw you. I’ll have your badge.”

  “Sir, if you don’t cooperate I’ll have this car impounded. We can check credentials at the station.”

  Linda looked to the policeman then to Bill, waving
her hand. “Bill, for god’s sake, just do it and we can be on our way.”

  Bill stepped to the passenger side and pressed his remote fob key. He retrieved his registration from the glove compartment and removed his driver’s license from his wallet, then handed both over.

  Paganno was annoyed with Bill’s compliance. Smart girlfriend. If she’d been Bill’s wife he’d have told her to shut the fuck up.

  “Wait here while I check this out. I’ll need your keys.” Button number two.

  “Fuck you. You have my registration and license—I’m not giving you my keys. Get the fuck away.”

  Bingo. “That’s it.” Officer Paganno grabbed Bill and pushed his face against the car as he handcuffed him. He picked up the keys Bill had dropped while being swung around.

  “Oh my god. Officer, Bill shouldn’t have said that. He can be an asshole.” Linda stepped close to the policeman.

  “You got that right, lady. Look, if you can calm your boyfriend down, let me check out the car, I might overlook his verbal abuse of a New York policeman. This is routine but necessary.”

  The German-engineered trunk opened smoothly and the bright interior light made inspection easy. Everything was sparkling clean, so Paganno easily spotted the chamois rag in the wheel well. But still, he took his time before making the surprise discovery. “Sir, what’s this?”

  “Fuck if I know. Looks like a shammy rag I keep to clean the car and wipe off fingerprints from scum like you.”

  Better and better. This guy makes my top ten biggest assholes.

  “Bill, stop. You’re not helping. Officer, please forgive my colleague’s rudeness.”

  Paganno liked that: “colleague,” not boyfriend, not companion. She’s dressed like a hooker and calls him a colleague. Here on business? Paganno smiled. Maybe it was business—just a different kind.

  Paganno opened the chamois and frowned at the plastic bag with white powder. He placed his pinkie inside, then touched a small amount to his tongue. Heroin, for sure. Not great though. Not enough to fetch thirty grand.