1 Murder Takes Time

by Giacomo Giammatteo

  The next afternoon, I went into his house. I didn’t get things ready like I usually did. I thought I’d wait for that. I tidied up a bit and turned down a picture that might have been his mother—even an ex-wife. For the next hour or so, I did a lot of thinking. Why had God been so harsh with me? I kept trying to straighten my life out, but circumstances had forced me onto paths I didn’t want to take. And now, with Gina gone…

  When his car pulled up, I crouched behind the door and waited. I held the tranquilizer gun in my right hand and a .38 in my left, in case the drugs didn’t work. Footsteps sounded on the walk, then up the steps. Slow and steady. The storm door opened, the key turned in the lock, and in stepped Johnny Muck. I had my .38 aimed at him, just in case. As he turned to shut the door, I shot him in the neck.

  He stumbled backwards and dropped his keys. He reached for his gun, but I shoved him, and he fell into a chair. He struggled a little, trying to stand, but never mustered the ability. After a minute or so, he was out. The tranquilizer had taken a bit longer than the “few seconds” the guy had claimed, but it was pretty damn good. I made sure Johnny was really out, and then I got things ready.

  I set my bag on the kitchen counter, took out the evidence and spread it around. I fastened one-inch hooks to the four corners of the dining room walls. I picked up Johnny’s fedora, dusted it off and set in on the counter next to his gloves. Then I dragged Johnny to the dining room, and laid him on the hardwood floor, on his back. I tied each of his wrists and ankles to the hooks, then pulled the slack from them so he couldn’t move. I had a nice gag prepared, but opted for plain old duct tape to start with. Depending on how aware Johnny was, I might have to switch.

  It took about half an hour for him to come to his senses. When he did, I saw that look in his eyes I’d been waiting for. The same look he had seen himself many times. He rolled his eyes, and shook his head from side to side, squirmed what little he could. I could tell from his expression he wanted to talk, so I undid the tape.

  “Nicky, you know it was just business.”

  I wanted to punish him right then, but I held my temper. “I know, Johnny, and I understand. But I need names.”

  “What do I get out of it? You let me go?”

  I laughed. He did too. “You know that’s not happening.”

  He gulped. I saw the Adam’s apple dance in his throat. “I heard about Donnie.”

  “Shame about him,” I said. “But he lied to me. I need to know all the shooters and who ordered it.”

  Johnny didn’t hesitate with the truth; he knew he was going to die. “No other shooters. You got us all. Tony ordered the hit on you and the girl.”

  Tony. But how did he find me? Did Bugs tell him? I had to find out.

  “You did good, Johnny.” I paused. What I wanted to do was find Tony and rip his fuckin’ head off. Tear his heart out. But I had to finish this. Johnny deserved my time now, even if it was to kill him. “How did Tony find me?”

  “I don’t know.” Johnny looked up. “How’d you find me?”

  “You taught me too well. I used rule number four—murder is invisible.” I saw the puzzled look on his face. “I was the window washer who did your car last week.”

  As he nodded miserably in recognition, I knelt next to him, took the tube of superglue, and squirted it between his lips, put the tape back over his mouth, then used more tape to secure him. He struggled, trying his best, but very quickly, more quickly than I’d imagined, the superglue sealed his mouth. I had gloves on, so no prints would be left. I’d worn the gloves since I came in. Johnny seemed worried about what to expect. He was right to be worried.

  I didn’t want to do this to Johnny, especially after he’d been straight with me. But he was the one in charge of the shoot. He killed Gina, and he would have killed me.

  After testing the ropes, I double-checked the tape. Didn’t want his screams disturbing my work. And there would be screams. As Johnny lay there, I got the claw hammer and nails. He went wild-eyed when he saw the nails. Year ago during one of our talks, I told him what I’d do to someone who betrayed me. His hands were stretched to the side, as if he were being crucified, which seemed appropriate. I grabbed a nail the length of my finger, placed it on his palm, drew back the hammer and struck.

  The vibrations rocked through him, spasms fighting against me even though he couldn’t move. I hammered again, driving the nail halfway into the floor. Three more swings, and it was fastened tight. Surprisingly, there wasn’t much blood. As I moved to his other hand, I met his gaze. His eyes were open as wide as they could go, and his face was stretched from trying to scream.

  “Sorry this is taking so long, but I’m not a carpenter. Imagine how Jesus must have felt, Johnny. Remember, his friends betrayed him too.”

  The next hand only required three swings to finish. By the time I stood, he had passed out. I checked his pulse, afraid he might have had a heart attack, but he was just unconscious. I waited a few minutes for him to recover. His eyes were so sad. Pleading. Begging.

  “I know, Johnny. It won’t be long now.”

  I stepped over his body; he had pissed himself. Probably shit his pants too. If not, he would soon. I grabbed another nail, got close to him and whispered. “This is for Gina.” I positioned the nail just to the right of his nose and drove it into his face. His head jerked up and down, bouncing off the floor. I think he was trying to kill himself. I couldn’t have that. I rushed to the bedroom, got a pillow and pushed it under his head. Blood ran out of his nose and over his mouth. I placed another nail at the same spot on the left side, but then stopped. Despite what he had done, I still liked Johnny, and he had suffered enough. I stood and finished the job. Shot him once in the head and once in the heart. Then I repeated the Trinitarian formula as I made the sign of the cross.

  Cleaning up this mess was easier than with the last two. I spread the remaining evidence, did the rest of my chores, then changed clothes before leaving through the front door. I stopped on my way home and called the Brooklyn precinct where Bugs worked and told them there was a body in Valley Stream they might be interested in. They told me it wasn’t their jurisdiction. I insisted that they pass the message to Detective Donovan. “He’ll want to know,” I said, then hung up.

  CHAPTER 65

  MARTYRS AND SAINTS

  Current Day

  Frankie was lost in thought as he drove into the station. It had been over a week and he had nothing, not even a hint that Nicky was watching Tito. Now he was losing Higgins and Sapperstein. When he pulled into the lot, Mazzetti was waiting. “What’s up, Lou?”

  “We’re visiting the wonderful community of Valley Stream today. Got another one.”

  “Valley Stream? How did we get the call?”

  “Special invitation from the shooter. He said you’d want to know.” He lit a smoke then cracked the window a bit, enough to let the smoke drift out. “So tell me again who this Rat guy is.”

  Frankie refreshed him on what he knew, but all the while he hoped this wasn’t Nicky. That this was some kind of bad, horrible coincidence. When they got to the scene, the street was filled with cop cars, the crime scene unit, and a handful of reporters. Lou and Frankie flashed their badges and walked in.

  A small crowd had gathered in the kitchen. A tall, black deputy eyed Frankie as he approached, holding his hand out. “You Donovan?”

  Frankie nodded. “Yeah. And this is Lou Mazzetti, my partner.”

  “Bobby Tilton,” he said, then moved toward the dining room. “Let me introduce you to Gianni Mucchiatto. Don’t know him, but he must have pissed somebody off real bad.”

  The deputy cleared a path, and when Frankie stepped into the dining room, he damn near threw up. They had left Gianni as they found him, tied to the walls, hands nailed to the floor, and a nail hammered into his face. The look on his face was an expression no one should see. Frankie forced himself to take in the scene.

  Did you do this, Nicky?

  “Some friend you got there,
Donovan.” Mazzetti lit a smoke, but the crime scene guys stopped him.

  Tilton tapped Frankie on the shoulder and nodded toward Mazzetti. “What’s he mean? You know the shooter?”

  Frankie shook his head. “I know one of the suspects.”

  “You plan on sharing, Detective?”

  Frankie smiled. Already it had gone from Donovan to detective. “I’ll send the file, Tilton. We’ve got five now.”

  “Five? How come we haven’t heard shit about this?”

  Frankie figured he might as well be nice to this guy. It was probably the biggest crime he’d ever had. “FBI thinks there are ties to bigger fish.” Donovan looked around as if he’d said something wrong. “Probably shouldn’t have even told you that.”

  Tilton was suddenly back on Frankie’s side again. “Goddamn FBI. Those bastards are always screwing up an investigation.”

  “Tell me about it,” Frankie said. He gestured toward the body. “So what do you have on this guy? Any connections? Priors?”

  “Not even a parking ticket.”

  Frankie nodded. He was a shooter, all right. And he must have been a good one to stay that clean. He reached out his hand to Tilton. “Here’s my card. I’ll send you the files on what we’ve got. Let me know if you come up with anything. Especially if you get any witnesses.”

  “You got it.”

  AS THEY DROVE BACK to Brooklyn, Mazzetti changed the radio station about a hundred times. He was never satisfied with what was playing even if he liked the song.

  “Hey, Lou, leave a song for just once, will you? I’ll listen to anything as long as it’s a whole song.”

  Mazzetti ignored the question. “Why’d you leave so soon? We could have stayed a while to see what they get.”

  “They’re not going to get anything, and you know it. It’ll be the same as the others—DNA out of our ass, but nothing to connect us to the killer.”

  Frankie called the FBI to see what they had on Gianni Mucchiatto. He filled them in on the situation, then gave them Tilton’s number. Frankie hung up and turned to Lou. “His street name was Johnny Muck. FBI’s got nothing but suspicion on him.”

  “Pretty name,” Lou said.

  Frankie lit another cigarette. “I’m dropping you off at the station, Lou. I need to see if I can get anything out of Tony.”

  “And you don’t want me coming?”

  “He probably won’t tell me anything. With you there, he definitely wouldn’t.”

  “You sure you’re not taking a cut from these guys?”

  Frankie laughed. “You’ve been to my apartment.”

  “Sorry.” Lou was quiet for a moment then turned to face Frankie. “If you ever crack that shell and want to talk to someone, let me know. Thirty years of marriage has made me an expert listener.”

  “I’m surprised you’re not deaf.”

  “What?”

  “I said…fuck you, wise ass.”

  Lou turned off the radio, something he never did without being threatened. “All shit aside, I’m a good listener, so if you need to talk sometime, I’ll even buy the drinks.”

  “Thanks. I might actually take you up on that. Days like this make me want a friend.”

  “Like I said, you name the time and place. Just don’t make it somewhere I got to climb steps.”

  “You got it.”

  Frankie let Mazzetti off at the station, then headed to Cataldi’s. He couldn’t get the picture of Johnny Muck out of his mind. When he got to the restaurant, he let them park the car, then went inside. “Tony here?”

  “At his table.”

  Frankie made his way there.

  Tony got up to greet Frankie, arms open wide. “What a surprise, Bugs. Good to see you.”

  “Not what you said last time we spoke.”

  “You know how that goes. I was pissed off.”

  Frankie said hi to Suit, then sat down. The waiter brought Frankie an espresso.

  “What brings you, Bugs? You able to say?”

  The last question was a reference to the wire. “I’m not wearing, Tony, but I am here officially. I came to see if you heard about Johnny Muck?”

  Tony set his cup down, a puzzled look on his face. “Don’t know Johnny Muck.”

  “How about you, Paulie? You know him?”

  “Can’t say I do, Bugs. Why?”

  “Guess it doesn’t matter, since you don’t know him.” Frankie took a bite of Paulie’s cannolo, sipped some espresso, then wiped his mouth. “But I’ll tell you this, if he was the last link between you and Gina, I’d leave town.” Frankie threw a twenty on the table. “See you guys…I hope.”

  FRANKIE HADN’T GOTTEN TO the door when Tony was on the phone with Tito. He answered on the first ring. “Something happen to Johnny Muck?” Tony asked.

  “I haven’t heard from him, but I wasn’t expecting to.” There was silence, then, “Not a good line to talk on. Come see me later.”

  “All right. Later.”

  Near the end of the day, Tony went to Tito’s. Manny answered the door and took him out back.

  Tito looked nervous. “Something happened, all right. Johnny Muck was butchered.” Tito paced across the flagstone patio. “Jesus Christ, tell him, Manny. Tell him what he did.”

  Tony looked to Manny, waiting.

  “Tied him up and nailed him to the floor like he was Christ himself.” Manny made the sign of the cross when he said it.

  “Tell it all, Manny. Tony’s a big boy.”

  Manny shook his head and stared Tony in the eyes. “He drove nails through each hand, and another one right through his cheekbone and into his mouth.”

  Tony grimaced. “Tito, we’ve got to do something.”

  Manny shook his head. “I warned you about this. Remember that shit in WWII about sleeping giants? I think you woke one when you killed Gina.”

  “He’s one guy, Manny.” But Tony said it without conviction.

  “Tell that to Johnny Muck,” Manny said.

  “Don’t worry. I’m gonna do something,” Tito said. “I’m gonna kill that fuck.” He threw his glass across the patio. “Get everybody here. We’re gonna find him.”

  Tony analyzed the situation quickly. “I’m going home. I’ll get Paulie and the other guys on it too.”

  Tito had a scowl on his face that looked painted on. “You do that, Tony. Let me know if you find anything.”

  “Will do,” Tony said. “I’ll let myself out.”

  Two blocks from Tito’s house, he dialed Frankie’s number. “Bugs, we need to talk.”

  “Find out what happened to Johnny?”

  “Where, Bugs?”

  “Danny’s. One hour.”

  BUGS WAS AT THE bar when Tony walked in. He was alone, which surprised Bugs. He felt sure that Paulie would be with him. “Long time, Tony.”

  “Yeah, well, things change.”

  “What have you got for me?”

  Tony got a glass of wine, then looked around. “Let’s go where we can talk.”

  They found an empty booth away from the crowd and sat. “What do you know about Johnny Muck?” Tony asked.

  “I know he’s dead.”

  “All off the record?” Tony asked.

  “All of it.”

  “Okay. Muck worked for all the families, but he owed his allegiance to Tito.” He paused while a young couple walked by their booth. “Muck was one of the best shooters ever.”

  “So how did Nicky—”

  “You won’t like hearing this, but Nicky was a shooter. Best one they ever had, according to Tito.”

  “Are you fucking with me?”

  “I wouldn’t be here if I were. He’s good, Bugs. And I need protection.”

  Frankie slammed his fist on the table, drawing attention from other patrons. “That’s all I need, not only a crazy fuck, but a crazy fuck who’s a hit man.”

  Bugs lit a smoke. “What else can you tell me?”

  “You can’t smoke in here.”

  “Fuck them, I’m a
cop. Tell me what you know.”

  Tony leaned over the table. “He’ll be coming for Tito for sure. Probably me, too.”

  “And me,” Bugs said.

  Tony’s brow wrinkled. “Why you?”

  “He thinks I gave him up. He called me from Cleveland…” Suddenly Bugs turned red and stared at Tony. “It was you, wasn’t it? You tracked my calls when I gave you the heads-up about Tito.” His hands balled into fists. “You whore. Not only betrayed Nicky, but you used me to do it.” Bugs got up. “I’m glad Mamma Rosa is dead. She’d be ashamed.”

  Tony stared at the table—wouldn’t look up. “You’ve got to help me. He’ll kill me if you don’t.”

  “Yeah, well, there is that,” Frankie said, and walked out.

  ALL THE WAY HOME, Frankie thought about how pissed he was at Tony. What the hell had happened to him? Of all the guys, he had figured Tony for the last one to give someone up or turn their back on them. But here he was, crawling on his belly, looking for salvation after what he’d done to Nicky.

  Fuck him. I got enough to worry about.

  When he got home, he went straight to the charts. He’d concluded on the way that his original assumption was right—Nicky would save Tony or Paulie for last, which meant that Tito was next. All efforts would be focused on Tito. He went to the chart of strategy, eyes scanning to the bottom, where he had written in large red letters—WHO’S NEXT?

  Frankie froze. Dropped his pen. Right next to it, in equally large red letters was

  YOU

  He drew his gun and crouched. The apartment was small, but there were a few places he could hide. “Nicky. You here?”

  After a minute, and comfortable that the living room was clear, he stood, then methodically cleared the rest of the apartment. Breathing heavily now, he went for his files, noticing immediately they’d been moved. Inside the first folder, a note stuck out of the corner.

  Hi, Bugs.

  Saw your stupid charts. You shouldn’t have done it, Bugs.

  Remember, Friendship & Honor.