Ice Cream Man
Page 33
Chapter 67
Bags Packed
Three days flew by. They were unhappy days for Vinnie, Ben, Dan, and Ginny.
Vinnie’s older brother Jack arrived Thursday morning, dropping Vinnie at the Forty-Second Street entrance to the Port Authority building. Big John and Jack knew better than anyone the criminal mind, so—Carmine’s assurance aside—Vinnie needed to be hard to find.
Ben had wanted to drive Vinnie to JFK himself, but Big John won that argument. Vinnie had to depart New York with minimal contact with family and friends—who needed to be kept in the dark as much as possible.
But only Ben knew Vinnie’s final location—because he’d arranged it. Jack knew the departure was from JFK and nothing more. DV&N colleagues, friends, and the Briggs family had no idea. Even Vinnie himself was in the dark. Ben alone knew, and Vinnie would learn when he landed at Los Angeles airport.
The hug was hard, the lift high, and the kissing and crying didn’t stop until Vinnie exited the condo building using UltraFit’s staff-only rear exit after hours. Ben had shut off the security cameras. Vinnie walked alone to Columbus Circle and caught the Eighth Avenue downtown—a journey he hadn’t made in months. He held a single piece of hand luggage.
On board American Airlines non-stop from JFK to LAX, Vinnie relaxed in his business-class seat, the ticket purchased with cash by Ben—his parting bon voyage gift.
The single carry-on made Vinnie’s transfer in LA to Amtrak easier. The train took him to Ben’s San Francisco condo, his final destination, and another example of Davis McGregor III’s legacy. The flight would be the last time Vinnie used his full name. He’d receive a duplicate platinum AMEX under the UltraFit account and Ben Hausen’s name, with the card issued to Vincent DePaul. Jack had planned to ship Vinnie’s additional personal items to a P.O. box in LA, but Ben suggested that Vinnie buy everything new. Vinnie liked that idea. He wouldn’t be sponging off Ben, either. He fully intended to reimburse Ben once his million-dollar settlement check cleared and he could again become Vinnie Briggs. Myron Rosenberg’s apoplectic fit over the offer had been cured when Gary Del Vecchio’s mug had hit him on the forehead.
Ben and Vinnie stayed connected, the two having to contend with several phone calls every day on cell phones that were untraceable by anyone aside from the NSA. Ben was reminded of living through the same scenario when Davis had gone away; their only contact had been phone conversations, until even that stopped.
The days dragged by, and Ben stared out his bedroom window. It was a view he’d imagined sharing with Vinnie. Their time as lovers had lasted only three days before it was over.
****
Bright fluorescent recessed lights made the gray cell seem larger than it was. On this day a small spot flickered around the floor from reflected sunlight that bounced off the steel toilet bowl and washbasin on the back wall. Two men sat across from each other, one unshaven with prison muscle, the other clean-shaven and fit, not up to par with the other man.
“I’ll be out of this stinking hellhole and away from your dirty mug in no time, no offense. Har har, har har.”
The upgrade to a bigger cell and more freedom in a federal white-collar country club prison was all Bill Barrington thought about.
“When I go before that federal prosecutor next week and tell him what I know about that fucking Carmine Aquafreddo and his illiterate fucking Guinea goombah Sal Friscollo, I’ll be out of here before you take your next shit. Har har, har har.”
The guards heard the commotion three days later. Bill Barrington had committed suicide by stabbing himself in the back five times with two different homemade shanks. This was the only possible explanation for his death, since not one of the fifty eyewitness prisoners had seen anyone attack him. As corroboration, Bill’s cellmate had reported that Bill had been depressed. The upside was that Bill Barrington had achieved his removal from Attica—to a cemetery in New Jersey. His family hadn’t attended the burial, although flowers had been sent from a restaurant in Brooklyn.
Linda Lords’s conviction of fraud with intent to embezzle should have resulted in a twenty to twenty-five-year sentence, but her cooperation with the DA in return for her testimony against her partner resulted in only twelve years at a minimum-security federal penitentiary. In the end, Ginny’s vision of the Prisoner’s Dilemma had come true. With good behavior, Linda might be released in five years and find employment in the promising service sector, living on minimum wage plus tips.
****
The birth came a week early: eight pounds, four ounces. The baby boy had big feet and big hands, and was beautiful like his daddy. Dan believed Anthony Benjamin Vincent Livorno was happiness incarnate. Ginny’s son became a member of her running group, and his new baby-style running buggy was a gift from Uncle Ben. The crayons in two hundred colors were sent from California—a little too soon for a baby, said Dan, but Uncle Vinnie disagreed, saying it was never too soon to learn color coordination.
Dan was happy with his new life, away from high-pressure investment models. He and Ginny began a specialized import/export business from small fashion houses across Europe, and sold to boutique stores in five select US cities. Dan used part of his forty-five-million-dollar DV&N compensation as initial capital, and placed a good chunk of it in sound investments for his son’s future.
****
Happiness was not part of Vinnie’s vocabulary. His San Francisco living quarters in Lower Pacific Heights weren’t as spacious as Ben’s New York high-rise, yet the eight thousand square feet of living space weren’t exactly shabby, either. Vinnie may not have been cramped, but he was lonely. He missed his friends. He missed Ben. He worried that Ben would have a change of heart, or would fall in love with someone else. Would Ben really move to the West Coast as he had promised?
Disappointment was nothing new to Vinnie. His few past lovers—all two of them—had ended nowhere. Doubts shadowed Vinnie in his lonely state. Was he wrong about Ben? Did Ben ever really want him? He’d have to wait until the day he’d be reprieved to know for sure.
Vinnie lay in the bed. He recalled the Wednesday in September, not yet a full year gone, his past life. I loved my boss. Best fuckin’ boss ever. I love Ben. Vinnie stopped talking to himself and looked around the interior of the unfamiliar bedroom. Tears formed in his eyes. Does anyone love me?
If you enjoyed reading ICE CREAM MAN, please rate this book and leave a review for other readers. It means a lot to me—and to Vinnie, who is busy investigating crimes and complicating his relationships with Ben, Dan, and Ginny. Thank you!
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Charles J. Puccia
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