1 Murder Takes Time

by Giacomo Giammatteo

  Suit stood to greet him, arms open wide. Frankie set the bag on the table.

  “What’s in the bag?”

  “I hope you didn’t forget,” Frankie said.

  “What?”

  Frankie handed Tony the bag. “Happy birthday.”

  Tony looked at him as if he were crazy. “It’s not my birthday, Bugs. You know that.”

  Bugs laughed. “I know it, sure, but you know how Billy Flannagan is—he sends one present a year, and you never know who it’s going to or when.” Tony looked confused, then Frankie said, “This year it’s your turn, Tony. Just like in sixth grade.”

  Billy Flannagan had ratted them out in sixth grade—Bugs was sending a signal: someone was watching, or listening, or both.

  “Open it up,” Suit said. “I gotta see what I missed.”

  Tony unwrapped it, threw the paper into the bag, then opened the box. Inside was a silk tie covered with the map of Ireland. He held the tie up for the others to see. “Would you look at this shit? Mick bastard.” He passed the tie around, then opened the card that came with it. On the outside it looked like a plain birthday card, but inside was what Tony wanted to see.

  Start laughing, Tony.

  I’M WIRED.

  Your friend forever,

  Bugs

  Tony laughed until he choked, his fist pounding on the table. The waiters knew them by now; otherwise, they might have rushed to see what was wrong. Tony handed the card to Paulie. “You gotta see this one. That goddamn Billy is hilarious.”

  Paulie laughed then passed it along to Nicky, who passed it to Bugs.

  “I’m hungry as shit,” Paulie said.

  “Manicotti is great here,” Tony said.

  “I’ll tell you what I could go for—a sub from Casapulla’s.”

  Paulie hit the table with his fist. “Goddamn, Bugs, did you have to bring that up?” He laughed. “I’d kill somebody for a Casapulla’s sub.”

  “Or a cheesesteak.” Nicky looked as if he would get in a car and drive down there right now.

  “Either one,” Paulie said.

  They were still talking about subs and steaks when the waiter came to take orders. Tony and Frankie both got the manicotti. Paulie ordered cheese ravioli.

  “What about you, Nicky?” Frankie asked.

  “Tortellini.”

  “Can’t believe you didn’t get the manicotti,” Tony said.

  Nicky just shook his head. “Nothing compares to Mamma Rosa’s. I never order things she made for us.”

  “She was a pain in the ass,” Tony said.

  “Bullshit.” Nicky damn near came over the table after him.

  Tony waved his hand. “Yeah, I know, to you she was a saint, but let me tell you—”

  “Nothing to say, Tony.”

  Tony downed the rest of his drink and slammed the glass on the table. “She wasn’t your mother, Nicky. When the hell are you going to learn that?”

  Nicky stared at him for a long time, then Paulie spread his arms across the table, separating them. “Mamma Rosa is dead,” Paulie said. “I know she was your mother, Tony, but we all loved her. So for once in your life—shut the fuck up.”

  Tony stared for too long, but then his anger disappeared. “You’re right, Paulie,” he said, then turned to Nicky. “I’m sorry. I know you meant well.” He laughed then. “I’ll tell you what—I hope God listened to all your prayers. If he did, my mother went straight to heaven.”

  Nicky took a deep breath and visibly relaxed. “Non-stop.”

  They made small talk during the meal, Nicky telling them about his union rep job, and Frankie talking about his cases, and how things were going to shit. Espresso followed the meal, then Tony ordered limoncello. He raised the glass and they all joined above the center of the table.

  “Friendship and honor,” Tony said.

  “Friendship and honor,” they all repeated, and gulped down the cellos.

  “Nectar of the Gods,” Paulie said as he set his glass down. The look on his face was semi-orgasmic. “One more, then I’ve got to go.”

  They sipped the next drink, savoring it. “This has been fun,” Frankie said.

  Nicky pushed his chair back, reaching for money as he stood.

  “Put your money away,” Tony said. “It’s no good here. And hey, Bugs. Call me sometime. I ain’t been swimming in a while.”

  Bugs nodded. He knew that the reference to swimming meant when they could meet without the wire. “I know,” Frankie said. “Not like back home. See you guys later.” As he left the restaurant, he worried over his decision. He could have just ended his career; on the other hand, there was no way he could betray his friends. Not like this. All he had to do now was make sure the Feds didn’t catch him.

  Fuck the Feds. They can do their own work.

  CHAPTER 44

  A NEW ASSIGNMENT

  Brooklyn—20 Months Ago

  I got the call on my special cell phone, the one I would throw away after today’s meeting. Nobody knew where I lived. Nobody knew what I did except Manny, Tito, and Johnny Muck. Nobody but Tony and a few others knew I was even alive. That’s the way I liked it. It pissed Tito off that I wouldn’t tell him where I lived, but the last thing I wanted was Tito Martelli dropping in unexpectedly. If he came for a visit, he wouldn’t be bringing wine.

  I let the phone ring two more times. “Hello?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “You know where the parking garage is on Seventh?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Go park on any floor above the fifth, then take the elevator to the third. There will be a blue Camry near the elevator. Keys in the rear wheel, driver’s side. Instructions will be inside.”

  “You keep getting more cautious.” Tito laughed after he said it. “I like that. Keeps both of us on our toes.”

  “Glad you see it that way.”

  “I need help.”

  “Tell me when we meet.”

  I WATCHED FROM INSIDE a van I rented. Got there early to make sure Tito wasn’t followed. He got off the elevator and looked around until he spotted the Camry. I kept it in long-term parking for occasions like this. It was cheap enough for the security it provided.

  Tito got the keys, then opened the front door. He pulled out the envelope, read it, then threw it back on the seat, obviously cursing. It had instructed him to go back to the fifth floor. I wanted to see if anyone on this floor was watching or waiting for him to signal them. He locked the door, put the keys back and headed to the elevator, never even looking around.

  Good, he’s alone.

  As he was about to get in the elevator, I beeped the horn, pulled up to him.

  “Jump in.”

  Frustration showed. “What the hell, Nicky? You getting paranoid?” He got in the front seat. “Park this thing so we can talk.”

  I pulled into an empty spot. “What do you need, Tito?”

  “Special one. And she’s gotta go quick.”

  “She?”

  “She stole money from me.”

  “Never killed a woman before. That’s against my rules.”

  “Fuck rules. Besides, she’s not a woman; she’s a thief.”

  “Get Johnny. I don’t like it.”

  “If I wanted Johnny, I wouldn’t be here. Get your head out of your ass. This is business.” Tito lit a smoke. Took a few drags. “Listen, this isn’t some goddamn mom with kids in little league. This is a hard-core, blackmailing thief who was smart enough to steal a couple hundred grand from us. She knew what she was buying into and she sure as shit knew the consequences.”

  I sat silent, wondering if I could take out a woman. The money would help. It would be a nice addition to the nest egg I was building; besides, if she stole from the mob…

  “How much?”

  “How much? Four hundred large.”

  “That’s a lot of money, Tito, but I meant how much for me?”

  Tito laughed. “So that’s what this negotiating is about. I forgot what
a cold-hearted fuck you were.” He remained silent for a minute, then said, “Don’t worry. Be plenty in it for you.”

  “I like plenty, but I need to know how much plenty is.” My dealings with Tito and those like him taught me to be suspicious. “Why so much? She dangerous?”

  Tito looked around nervously, as if he was being watched. “She might be under surveillance.” He was very quick to add, “I’m not sure, probably not, but…possibly.”

  “Who?”

  More silence.

  “Who, Tito?”

  “Feds.”

  I laughed. “Now we get to it. That’s why this is rich.” I stared. “So how much?”

  “I don’t know. Double…fuck, triple. How about that?” He mumbled something else, then said, “What’s the big deal? Feds are probably already watching you because of Tony.”

  “But now we’ll have two teams of Feds. Makes it tough.” I thought for a minute. “Get Johnny to do this. I don’t need the Feds knocking on my door.”

  Tito waited the requisite amount of time, then sighed. “I don’t want Johnny to do it.”

  Inside, I smiled all over. Either he really didn’t want Johnny, or Johnny had turned it down. He was stuck with me. “Tell you what, Tito. I’ll do it, but I keep whatever she has left from the money she took. And—”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “That’s not all,” I said, cutting him off. “If she has less than a hundred, that’s what I get.”

  “A hundred large. You are nuts.”

  I slipped the car into gear and backed up. “Get Muck. The only reason I’d do this is to retire.”

  “Hold on a minute.” Tito looked at me with anger in his eyes, then laughed. “You’ll never retire.”

  I eyed him. “You want me to do this or not?”

  “You’re a cock-sucker.”

  “Yeah, I know. You got details?”

  Tito handed me an envelope. “I need this done quick.”

  “I don’t do things quickly.”

  Tito glared. “Make an exception. Now take me to my car so I can get the hell out of here.”

  AS I DROVE HOME, I mentally prepared my trip. That night I studied the material Tito gave me—looked at her picture, memorized her phone number and address—then burned everything in a pot and carried the ashes to the dumpster. I packed before going to bed. Hershey wasn’t far, so I decided to drive; besides, planes left trails.

  When I got there, I called Donnie and Chicky and told them I was in the area. They’d seen me around the union hall, but had no idea who I was, so I hoped to keep out of sight. I got the address of the woman—Gina, I now knew her name to be—and her place of work, as well as the name she used: Debbie Small.

  “What else you need?” Chicky asked.

  “Nothing. You can go home now.”

  I sensed the anger over the phone. “Maybe we should—”

  “Tito gave me permission to kill every one of you if you interfered with my job. If you’re still here in twenty minutes I’ll consider that interference.”

  “Yeah. All right. Fuck you. How about that?”

  “That would be fine. Just get out of the area.”

  I went to bed that night in a small motel room outside of Hershey. For the first time in a long while I dreamed of what I’d do when I retired.

  THE MORNING CRASHED IN on me, sunlight bursting through open curtains, frightening me awake. First days of surveillance were critical. They set the tone of the entire assignment.

  I got to the school early. It was a two-story brick building that occupied an entire block, perched on a hill across from a church. The north side had three sets of double-doors, but only one door on the other three sides. A park bordered the west and a woods on the south. I made a mental note to see if the woods offered a good escape route. Rows of old brick homes bordered the east—row-houses filled with too many kids, and parents who didn’t make enough money.

  A group of young boys, maybe eight or nine years old, were walking up the street to school. I rolled the car window down. “Do you know where Ms. Small’s class is?”

  “Second floor,” one of them said. “Third room down the hall.”

  “Thanks.” I turned left at the corner. Her room was on the side near the woods, by the south door. I followed the streets, hugging the woods until I got to where it ended. Must have been almost half a mile deep, and it was bordered on the other side by a small, winding road. Two blocks away was the back side of a grocery store and a few small shops.

  Perfect.

  I got breakfast, parked the car and walked through the woods, binoculars in hand. The paths were worn from continual use. I found a tree stump and sat there to scan the area, see what I could see, and, who might be able to see me. It took about five minutes to spot Chicky and his guys sitting in a car up the street. What the hell were they thinking—three hoodlum-looking guys parked across from a school? I should have reported them as child molesters but I preferred knowing where they were. I figured Tito sent them to check on me.

  But why? He’s never done this before.

  All morning I watched Gina. At recess I got to see her at work. More so at lunch. She was good with the kids—playing, laughing, disciplining. When school let out, she held their hands and escorted them across the street. This wasn’t what I wanted to see. The other assignments were…well, they were guys that needed killing. Guys who betrayed the mob, drug dealers, even murderers. I did them a favor by taking them out early, and mercifully. This though…this was different.

  When Gina left, I put the binoculars away and walked back to the car, checking to make sure no one was watching. I drove around for a while, then had dinner at a small restaurant. I ordered a steak, which I seldom did, and afterwards, wished I hadn’t. Nothing seemed right today.

  After driving around some more, I went back to the motel and watched television, then tried to read. Nothing would take my mind from the horrible feeling in my gut, the one Sister Thomas told us about in second grade. She said God put that feeling there so we knew when we were doing wrong. If we got that feeling, we needed to stop and think about what we were doing and whether it was right.

  Goddamn you, Sister Thomas.

  As I thought about what to do, it came to me. Whenever I had problems in the past, Sister Mary Thomas had been there to help. Sometimes she didn’t know she helped me, but she did. I said the hell with it. Wilmington was only an hour and a half away. Resolving to go allowed me to sleep, though I did wake up before six and was on the road by six-thirty.

  By eight I was standing in front of good old St. Elizabeth’s.

  CHAPTER 45

  ADVICE

  Wilmington—20 Months Ago

  All the way to Wilmington I worried. Not about the assignment, and not even about facing Sister Thomas. I worried about Angie. What if I saw her? What if she saw me? I hated Tony for telling me about her the way he did, but I hated her more, and not just for running off and getting married. I hated her for making me love her so much.

  St. Elizabeth’s loomed before me. My stomach churned. I found myself wondering what the hell I was afraid of. Me, Nicky the Rat, afraid to face a nun, and an old one at that. With a deep breath, I opened the doors and climbed the steps. I almost hoped she wasn’t there; then I could turn around, drive back to Hershey and finish the job.

  Six steps led me to a small concrete landing, then six more, followed by eight. I pushed open the double doors at the top. Her class was the first one on the right. I peeked inside. I hadn’t given much thought to what I’d do once I got here. What the hell was I thinking? Class was going on. As I turned to leave, Father Tom grabbed me by the arm.

  “If it isn’t Nicky Fusco. How long has it been?”

  A smile came naturally. “Father Tom, good to see you.”

  “What brings you back, Nicky?”

  I hesitated. “Nothing. Just…” I knew my face was flushing. “Actually, I was in the area and thought I’d come by to see Sister Mary Thomas.”r />
  “Wait here. I’ll get her.”

  “No need, Father. I’ll come back.”

  Father Tom shook his head. “No you won’t.”

  She came out a moment later, looking not much older than the last time I’d seen her, and still with the permanent smile on her face and gleam in her eye. Wrapped around her left wrist were the ever-present rosary beads, ready to draw and inflict forgiveness on unsuspecting sinners.

  Sister Mary Thomas opened her arms and embraced me. “Nicky Fusco. My favorite student.”

  I blushed again. “Sister Thomas, you say that to everyone.”

  “You should never accuse a nun of lying.”

  “You’re right. Sorry, Sister.”

  “So what brings you back? I thought you were in New York.”

  I paused. Probably for too long. “Down here for a few days on work.”

  She grabbed my hand, led me toward the door. “Why don’t we walk, Nicky? The Lord has blessed us with a nice day. He must have known you were coming.”

  To object would be useless. Once Sister Mary Thomas had her mind made up, she was worse than Mamma Rosa. “How have you been, Sister? How’s Sister Theresa?”

  “Sister Theresa passed away last year, I’m sorry to say. We will miss her company and wit.” She sighed. “As to me, I’m fine. I have another good class, filled with good students.”

  I smiled as we made our way down the stairs. Optimism had found a permanent home in Sister Mary Thomas, probably coming with that smile she carried around.

  “And you, Nicky? How have you been?”

  “Great. I’ve been lucky.” I held the doors open for her.

  She squeezed my hand, stepped off the curb and started across the street to the park. “Yes, lucky. You lost your mother at birth. Your father at fourteen, and Rosa Sannullo went to God a few years later.”

  I didn’t say anything. What could I say?

  She sat under a giant old oak on a bench that had been there forever. Concrete sides, with small wood planks for a seat and a back, it had lasted for many years and had heard many tales—lovers’ quarrels, proposals, family fights, kids plotting, girls gossiping. Sister Thomas pulled me down beside her. She stared until I held her gaze.