1 Murder Takes Time

by Giacomo Giammatteo

  “That’s right. And I’m still not sure. I thought this might be a guy I knew leaving me clues. I wanted to see if I recognized the voice.”

  “And?”

  “I want to say no, but one time I thought I detected a Philly accent.”

  “There are plenty of guys from Philly up here. You can’t pry that accent loose with a crow bar.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Frankie said. “Been trying to lose mine for years.”

  “So we’re back to the grind.”

  Frankie tossed his cup into the trash. “Guess we are, partner.”

  They worked the rest of the day, catching up with the few people they hadn’t interviewed yet from the neighborhood and on pestering Kate Burns about DNA evidence. She had turned up some stuff, but there was an inordinate amount of it at the scenes and the system was already bogged down. By late afternoon, Frankie called it quits. Lou had already left for a dentist appointment. “Going home early, Carol. See you tomorrow.”

  THE CHART WAS WHERE Frankie had left it, hanging on the wall to the right of a poster featuring Bogart and Mary Astor that he picked up at a garage sale. Looked good keeping company with Casablanca. He grabbed a marker and started writing. It was time to find answers.

  Nicky:

  Friends—Who are friends? Me, Tony, Suit. Anyone else?

  Honor—Don’t ever run. If this is Nicky, he definitely isn’t running.

  Girls—There is a girl, but who is she? And what does she have on Tito?

  Nuns—Sister Thomas—does she know anything? Would Nicky tell her?

  Prison—Have no idea what he did in there.

  Fearless—No shit.

  Smart—Has us confused. Knows procedure.

  Rosa—Her teachings would have affected him.

  Tito—What’s the connection with him?

  Cleveland—What the hell were you doing in Cleveland?

  Then he stared at Tony’s chart:

  Tony:

  Friends—Me, Nicky, Suit, Tito, Manny.

  Honor—Not sure if it still means anything to him.

  Girls—Has wife, Celia. Others.

  Nuns—Never had the respect for them that Nicky did.

  Mob—Seems to be in tight.

  Conniving—Can no longer trust Tony.

  Smart—Smartest guy I know.

  Rosa—His mother—but did he learn from her?

  Tito—Does he obey? Or just work for him?

  Brooklyn—Knows what’s going on.

  Okay, enough of that, he thought, happy with what he accomplished.

  Time to look at the files again. Files usually held the key to a case. They just had to be reviewed over and over again. Just like the nuns taught them in school. Never give up. If you are stuck, go to the beginning and start over.

  First file: Renzo Ciccarelli. No occupation. Three arrests for gambling. No convictions. Killed in a house. No one heard or saw anything. Tons of evidence. Tortured before shot.

  Second file: Tommy Devin. A plumber in the union. No convictions. No arrests. Killed in a house. No one heard or saw anything. Tons of evidence.

  Third file: Nino Tortella. Car Salesman. Twelve arrests, all minor. Three convictions. No jail. Killed in a house. No one heard or saw anything. Tons of evidence. Tortured before shot.

  Donovan stared at the data. Not much to go on. At least he hadn’t found it yet. It was there, he felt sure, but he had to sift through it. He drew three columns on a new sheet of paper: Renzo. Tommy, Nino. Underneath them, he penciled in the things they had in common and what was unique.

  Several things caught his eye: Rat shit. Shot in head and heart. Killed at home. Preponderance of evidence. All of these went under each name as common to all.

  A few items stuck out. Torture—only Renzo and Nino got penciled in.

  Dead rat—only Nino.

  Unless they just didn’t find one at the other scenes.

  Frankie made a note to ask about that. He stared, flipped through the papers, then read again.

  Cigarettes at Tommy’s house. Picture of mother turned down at Nino’s. Nicky would never dare let anyone’s mother see them be hurt so bad. Not even as bad as he must have hated poor Nino. Frankie wrote two more notes.

  If this is Nicky, why did he hate Nino?

  ‘Check and see if pictures turned down in other two houses. See if there were pictures.’

  That was one more clue on the bad side for Nicky. After working two more hours, Frankie quit. His eyes were tired and things were not making sense. He jotted down one final note:

  ‘Find everything these three had in common. Need the link.’

  He thought about what he had learned. On one side it pointed to Nicky: rat shit, rat in the fridge, the 9-1-1 call, cigarettes, roaches, picture of Nino’s mother turned down.

  But Tony also knew about the rat, the cigs, and the roaches. He wouldn’t have bothered calling about the cat or turning the picture down, but…he was smart enough to have thought about it if he was framing Nicky. And of the two of them, Tony was the one Frankie pictured doing this. Either way, the killer was sending Frankie a message—but what? Was he telling Frankie who would be next? And if it was Nicky, why was he killing these people? Why had he disappeared to begin with? Why had he never called back?

  Frankie wrote another column on the paper. Who else? Under it he scribbled more thoughts. If someone else was doing this, they would have to know Nicky’s habits. Have to be from the neighborhood.

  He settled onto the cushion, deciding to sleep on the sofa tonight as he thought about what to do. He knew what he should do. He should go in tomorrow and tell the lieutenant that he wants off the case, that he suspects one of his old friends is the killer. Frankie scratched his head, closed his eyes and imagined the scenario. None of it good. How does he tell them that his absolute best friend is an ex-con and might be the one killing these people? And what if they ask about the rest of his friends…the ones who were mobsters. Either way he was fucked, but then again he’d been fucked from the moment he was born into that hellhole of a house.

  He remembered times growing up when he wished his father would just go away, not come home one day from work. After some of the beatings he wished that he would die. When he was little and still believed in shit, he got scared that God would do something to him for thinking such thoughts. Later, when his hate had turned to his mother, he didn’t care. At that point the only friends he had were Nicky and Tony. Now Nicky was missing and Tony…well, Tony was still Tony. He always had a way of being a prick and he knew just how to get under Nicky’s skin.

  CHAPTER 17

  A NEW DIRECTION

  Wilmington—19 Years Ago

  After the night we made love, Angela and I were inseparable. I had sampled the forbidden fruit, but there was no way I was telling the guys about it. They would spread the news, then I would have to kick their asses. It was better to keep it quiet. Let someone else have the glory of being “first.”

  Soon afterwards, I stopped hanging out with the guys and did everything with Angie. I left Tony, Bugs, Suit, and the rest of them to fend for themselves, though I saw Tony every day at his house and we got together when we worked Doggs’ games. Things were different with Tony, though. He had been messing with drugs, and it showed.

  One day when I came into Tony’s house, Rosa and Angie were in the kitchen. Mamma Rosa had the wooden spoon in her hand, waving it like a conductor’s baton as she talked to Angie. She held that spoon so much that sometimes she reminded me of Sister Thomas, who was never without her pointer or yardstick.

  “Taste that again,” Mamma Rosa said to Angie. “Is it right?”

  “Tastes good. Not as good as last time, but—”

  Rosa administered a loving pat to the back of Angie’s butt with her spoon. “That’s what’s wrong with young girls. Not as good as last time means not good at all.” She rinsed the spoon, stirred the sauce, put the spoon to her lips and tasted. Her eyes squinted as she sampled it. “Nicky, come taste
this.”

  I smiled at Angie, then took the spoon and tasted the sauce. “I think it’s perfect.”

  Rosa threw her hands up in the air. “Perfetto. Of course it’s perfect. You are young and in love.” She shook her head as she stirred. “How am I going to teach Angie if you don’t help me?” She wagged the spoon in my direction. “Just remember, you might be tasting this sauce for a long time. Don’t be telling her little love lies.”

  Angie and I were still laughing when Tony came into the kitchen. “Nicky. How did I know I’d find you here? I was hoping to get a minute with my own mother, but I guess that’s out of the question when you and Angie are around.”

  I laughed, but it was fake. There was something in his voice, and more importantly in his eyes, when he said that. “Guess you’ll have to get a new mom,” I said, trying for levity.

  Before anything serious happened, Mamma Rosa whacked both of us with the spoon. “There’s plenty of me to go around, boys.” She pulled us to her and hugged us, like she did when we were little. I thought right then that no matter how old I got, or how much trouble I was in, a hug from Mamma Rosa would make things okay.

  Tony laughed—a real one this time—and threw a punch.

  I kicked at him. He dodged, threw a spoon at me. “Hey, Rat, it’s Saturday night. Come out with us. We’re working a game.”

  I wanted to say no, but Angie signaled for me to go. “Sounds good. I’ll get dressed.”

  “Better hurry, Nicky,” Rosa said, then smacked Tony with her spoon. “If you don’t want another one, get ready to go,” Mamma Rosa said. She stared at him over her glasses with that look of hers that brooked no argument.

  WE GOT TO THE smoke shop in half an hour. While waiting for the game to start, Tony and I swept the floor.

  Doggs came up to us. “You boys are getting a little old to be working the games, aren’t you?”

  Tony shrugged. “We doing something wrong?”

  “Nothing wrong, but there’s a new crop of brats waiting to take your place.” Doggs looked around the room. “Besides, I got things you can do to make more money.”

  Tony stopped sweeping and leaned on the broom. “Like what?”

  Doggs stared at both of us through narrowed eyes. “One fuckin’ word…”

  “Doggs, holy shit, man, we’ve been working for you for eight, nine years now. You can trust us.”

  He shrugged. “All you gotta do is pick up a few things. Deliver a few things. Like I said, nothing much.”

  “You talking numbers and payoffs, or are you talking drugs?” Tony looked at Doggs and raised his eyes. “If it’s drugs it’ll cost you a lot more.”

  Doggs smacked him across the head, hard. “What the fuck’s the matter with you, asking me a question like that?” He smacked me, too, but not as hard. “I’m a legitimate fuckin’ business man. No fuckin’ drugs.”

  “All right,” Tony said. “Don’t get so worked up. I had to ask, right?”

  It was obvious that Doggs’ patience went out with his last utterance of fuck. “So what is it, you in or out?”

  “I’m in,” Tony said.

  “Count me out.”

  “Nicky, what the hell? Why not?”

  “Just count me out, that’s all.” I wanted nothing to do with Tony’s schemes anymore. He was getting way too involved with shit that could put us away.

  “It’s Angie, isn’t it? You shit. You’re probably not even getting any of that, and you’re letting her control your life. Go fuck Sally Jenkins if you need to get it off, or let me have a shot at Angie. I guarantee she’ll put out for me.”

  I shoved Tony against the bar, then punched his face, drawing blood. He came after me, but Doggs smacked a cue across my back and whacked Tony in the head with the broom. “Cut the shit or I’ll kick both your asses.”

  I pointed a finger at Tony. “Shut up about Angie, or I swear I’ll beat your fuckin’ brains out.” It was the first time in my life I was ever really pissed at Tony. We had gotten in fights before, even fist fights, but I had never been pissed like this.

  Tony stared at me, but I stared him right back. “Fuck you,” he said, then turned to Doggs. “I’m in, and you can count on Bugs. Suit, too, if you got enough work for three.”

  Doggs nodded. “I got enough,” he said, then stared at me. “You keep your fuckin’ mouth shut, Fusco. Hear me. I don’t give a shit who your father is.”

  “You know I will, Doggs, but I don’t want your work anymore. Not if Tony’s involved.” I put the broom up then headed for the door. As I walked home I kept hearing what Doggs said in my mind. ‘I don’t give a shit who your father is.’ What the hell did he mean by that?

  THAT MARKED THE START of the real split from the group. I was out, and Suit was in, which was fine by me. For a long time, Tony had acted different. I think it started because of Angie, but it soon snowballed into everything else. He was jealous of my relationship with Mamma Rosa, with the other guys, but mostly Angie.

  Several years went by, and though I ate dinner at Tony’s house, it was only because Mamma Rosa insisted on it. She knew something was wrong between us, but she never asked, and we never said anything. Angie still came over on Tuesdays and Fridays to cook with Rosa. She’d long since gotten to be an excellent cook; now she came just to perfect her skills, and, of course, to see me.

  One day, when Angie and I were out walking, Tony caught up to us at the park. “Hey, Nicky, what’s going on?”

  I was surprised to see him. “Just hanging out with Angie.”

  “Let’s go to my house. Got some stuff to show you.”

  He grabbed my arm, but I shook it off. “I’m gonna hang out here.”

  “Come on. Bring Angie with you.”

  I stared at Tony. I didn’t know what was going on, but he was acting strange. “I’ll see it later.”

  Tony turned his head. Shook it. Seemed to be losing control. “You need to come with me. Really.”

  “Why? What the hell is going on?” I was getting pissed.

  He turned to Angela. “Tell him to come.”

  She looked worried. “Nicky, maybe you better.”

  “Tony, tell me. Goddamnit.”

  Tony looked like he didn’t know what to do. He grabbed hold of me, and I could tell something big was wrong. “It’s your Pops, man. He’s dead.” He started bawling, hugging me as he did. “I’m sorry I had to tell you like this.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I ran down the street, tears already forming. “No.” I ran all the way down Clayton Street until I hit our block. Rosa was waiting to intercept me. I should have known she’d never let me see Pops by myself.

  I took the concrete steps from the street two at a time then raced up the walk. She grabbed me before I hit the door, wrapped her arms around me. “Nicky. Oh, Nicky. I’m so sorry.”

  “Let me go, Mamma. I gotta see Pops.”

  She opened the door, letting me inside. He lay there on the floor. Blank. Dead.

  I ran to him, but it wasn’t Pops. It was just a lifeless body. I hugged him, but felt nothing. Kissed his forehead, but felt no warmth. After that, I cried. And cried.

  I felt a presence. A hand on my back. When I turned, Rosa was there with tears in her eyes. I hugged her. “Mamma Rosa, what happened?”

  “I was out back, and Dante called to me, but by the time I got in here, he was almost gone. He had a heart attack, Nicky.”

  I couldn’t say anything. All I could do was cry.

  The ambulance came and took him away. I kissed him goodbye as they loaded him on the stretcher. I wanted to ride with them, but they wouldn’t let me.

  “It is time, Little Nicky. Come with me. We’ll call Jimmy.”

  “Jimmy” was Jimmy Maldonaddo, the last of four boys who had inherited their father’s funeral business. They buried damn near everyone in the neighborhood, no matter what the nationality. I couldn’t let go, but Rosa insisted. Finally, I stood and walked out the door with her help.

  B
y the time we got to her house, Tony and Angela were there. I hugged and cried with both of them. My two best friends. As I struggled with emotions, I heard Rosa in the background.

  “Grief is the pain the heart needs to heal.” She was praying on a rosary as she said it.

  I hugged her again. “What am I gonna do? Pops is gone.”

  CHAPTER 18

  A GATHERING OF FRIENDS

  Wilmington—15 Years Ago

  I stayed at Rosa’s house the first night, not wanting to be by myself. The next day, though, I went home. The furniture was still there, nothing had moved, but the house felt…empty. I shivered as I walked across the living room.

  This was more than empty. Or maybe it was less than empty. It was lonely.

  I noticed new things for the first time: the echoes of my shoes on the hardwood floor, how dark the rooms were when the lights went out, how deathly silent it was with the television off. I wondered what Pops must have felt like all those nights I spent at Tony’s. Pops here by himself, without mom. Loneliness must be the worst thing there was.

  By two in the morning I still wasn’t sleeping, so I got dressed and went out. As I walked the hill a window opened in Bugs’ house. “Yo. Nicky. Hang on.”

  A few minutes later, Bugs crept out the front door, lighting a smoke by the time he hit the street. He dragged hard on it, like he always did, then handed me one. “Sorry about your Pops, Nicky. Shit, that’s bad.”

  Bugs wasn’t the best at offering condolences, but I knew he meant it, and he was a good friend. “Feel like walking?” I asked.

  “I don’t care. I hate that house.”

  We walked for a half a block in silence, then Bugs said, “Let’s see if Mick’s up.”

  “You interested in Mick, or Patti?”

  Bugs hit me. “Maybe the three of us could do something. You know, take your mind off things.”

  “It’s two in the morning.” It was so ridiculous I almost laughed. Regardless, we went to Mick’s, tossed a few rocks at his window and eventually got him out.

  The three of us roamed the streets for hours. Didn’t do shit. Just talked. Reminisced. Smoked. When we saw the Connor brothers delivering the morning papers, we knew it was time to go home. Damn near daylight anyway. As I walked in the house I realized that this was what having friends was about.