One Last Kill

by Spenser Warren

  The car slowed a few blocks from the police station. Meransky hadn’t indicated whether the person would ride with Cal or meet him there. Cal’s mind raced with idea of the whole operation being a setup, and he imagined a man entering the car and blowing him away.

  The car stopped and someone knocked on the door. Cal placed his hand on the jackknife inside of his pocket, ready to fend off a potential attacker. He felt like he couldn’t trust anyone, especially on this mission.

  A man, shorter than Cal, ducked into the car. He wore a fedora and his Caucasian face had a rubbery texture to it. A charcoal-gray suit with a white button-down dress shirt, black tie, and polished black shoes completed the outfit. Other than his unusual skin texture, the man was well kept. Cal didn’t notice the white gloves on the man’s hands at first, then thought it was odd for them to be worn at this time of year.

  “Rich Larson,” Cal offered, staying in character. He didn’t want to give too much away in case Alfredo had chosen someone not in the mafia to play the other attorney. “I’m Mr. Fregosi’s chief counsel. You are?”

  The man turned to him. A smile formed on his face and Cal felt like he recognized him, despite the odd complexion. Yet the person he pictured didn’t resemble the man that was sitting next to him.

  “Joseph Fletcher. Make sure you call me Joseph, not that Joe shit. Especially not Joey.”

  Cal nodded, the voice matching who he assumed was playing Fletcher. Still, he didn’t want to break from character to acknowledge it. The car started up again, pulling away from the curb. It would only be a few minutes before they arrived at the Cook County Department of Corrections, where Tony was being held for questioning.

  Once they’d driven for a while, Cal turned toward Fletcher and whispered, “Is that a mask, or did you just get a piss-poor plastic surgeon?”

  The man looked Cal up and down and snorted. “Speak for yourself, Rich. I thought you were supposed to be some kind of hotshot Texan. Don’t Texans usually have a real thick drawl?”

  Cal cleared his throat and tried his best attempt at a Southern accent. What came out of his mouth was too twangy, causing Fletcher to laugh.

  “Nice try, Mr. Larson. You better be able to convince those motherfuckin’ police officers that accent ain’t fake.”

  It’s when Fletcher added the “motherfuckin’” that Cal knew for sure it was Fonzie behind the mask. He’d only been shot five days ago and was still at the doc’s place as far as Cal knew. Why was he here? And why the mask?

  Fonzie’s eyes met his in acknowledgment. He had to know that Cal saw right through the mask.

  “I’m as shocked as you are, good sir. Mr. Al called me and told me he wanted me to be a lawyer. Momma said I was too dumb to do anything with my life other than be an actor like her or a gangbanger like my daddy. But here I am, ready to fight for the life of my client. Our client, Mr. Larson.”

  The driver, a man Al Meransky trusted to the highest degree but someone who Cal hadn’t interacted with previously, rolled his eyes and laughed from the front seat.

  “Boy oh boy. You both have a lot of work to do.”

  “Shut the hell up, white boy,” Fonzie said. Realizing he was impersonating a white attorney, Fonzie cleared his throat and dropped the profanity. “You know what, sir, you’re absolutely right. Thanks for pointing that out.”

  Cal laughed at Fonzie’s attempt at playing lawyer. He was glad he wasn’t the only one confused by the cover stories. It helped him ease his mind a little before they arrived.

  Cal felt the buzz of his cell phone in his pocket as they pulled up outside the main gate of the division V section of the jail. He saw “No Caller ID” flash across the screen and assumed it was Meransky from an untraceable phone with last-minute instructions.

  “Excuse me, is this Cal?” The voice was authoritative. Not something Meransky was known for.

  “Why don’t you tell me who you are first,” Cal replied. Still in character, he spoke in the accent he imagined Rich Larson would use.

  “This is Sergeant Luis Rodriguez of the Chicago Police Department. I’m calling about Maria Espinoza. You were listed as her emergency contact in her phone. I’m sorry to report that she’s had an accident and needs immediate medical attention.”

  Fonzie opened his door and stared at Cal. Cal’s body went numb at the officer’s words.

  “Are you hearing me, sir? Miss Espinoza needs immediate medical attention. Are you—”

  Cal cut him off and found the nerve to speak. “Yes, medical attention. Yes, you need to give her immediate medical attention. What happened?”

  Fonzie stepped out of the vehicle, and the driver had a furious look on his face.

  “You gonna get out or what? I can’t dillydally here; these guys will think something’s up.”

  Still distraught over the situation and waiting for the sergeant to respond, Cal found he was unable to move from the seat. One of two officers standing at attention outside the door walked toward the car and yelled at the driver.

  “She took a stumble on the sidewalk, hit her head against the concrete. She said someone may have been chasing her. We’ve called an ambulance to run some tests and make sure she doesn’t have a concussion, but she should be okay.”

  Cal’s heartbeat drummed faster inside his chest. At least it wasn’t as serious as he’d feared. Hearing that Maria thought someone was following her held his attention.

  Who could have been chasing her? Was it someone from the mafia? Maybe it was one of Caruso’s thugs, seeking revenge for their boss’s murder. None of them knew about Maria, did they? It would be hard to concentrate on the meeting ahead with Tony.

  He finally forced himself out of the car and onto the street, with the phone still held up to his ear.

  “You make sure she gets to the hospital, you hear? Tell her that I’ll be on my way as soon as I can,” Cal ordered in his Texan accent.

  “Yes, Mr. Cal. I’ll give you a call if anything else comes up.”

  Cal hung up and put the phone back in his pocket, walking behind the car as it pulled away from the gate. An officer shook Fonzie’s still-gloved right hand. In his other hand, Fonzie held a briefcase that Cal hadn’t noticed before.

  “Mr. Larson,” the officer said to Cal, shaking his hand. “I’m Captain Joe Blutarski. I’ll be escorting you to see your client, Mr. Fregosi. A pleasure to meet you and your associate Mr. Fletcher.”

  The name “Blutarski” sounded familiar to Cal. He may have been an officer on the family’s payroll.

  Cal wondered why he was the man greeting them at the door. He wondered what Alfredo had up his sleeve. He couldn’t worry about it too much, because Tony’s life was on the line. On top of that, he was worried sick about Maria. What exactly had happened to her? There wasn’t time to worry about himself.

  “Pleasure to meet you as well, Captain. How’s the boy doin’?”

  Fonzie added, “We’d know ourselves, but we’ve only talked to one of your detectives and the boy’s father. The guy seemed real eager to question the boy without us being here.”

  Cal was unsure how Fonzie knew this much information. Maybe Meransky had given him different instructions.

  They arrived at the entrance of the gate. The other officer nodded as he saw Blutarski walk to the door and badge everyone in.

  “The boy’s doing fine. Nothing to worry about. Don’t worry about Detective Thomas either, he’s a ballbuster. He’s got no real authority on this case.”

  Blutarksi led them into a small foyer with a metal detector straight ahead.

  “I’m sorry, boys. I know you’re both law-abiding citizens, but we’ve got to send you through these.”

  “Even the briefcase?” Fonzie asked.

  “Yes, Mr. Fletcher, even the briefcase.” Fonzie stepped forward to the metal detector and smiled at the officer manning the x-ray machine. The female officer’s eyes locked on Fonzie, scanning his face, perhaps wondering why his appearance was so rubbery and wrinkly looking. Blu
tarski eased closer to Cal and prepared to whisper in his ear.

  Whatever he had to say, Cal knew there was no going back. If Blutarski wasn’t on the payroll, Cal would be in serious trouble for bringing a weapon into a penitentiary like this one. He’d just have to trust him.

  37

  “Give me your knife. If you need a weapon, there’ll be one given to you in the boy’s cell. You’re in good hands here, Mr. Larson.”

  Cal nodded and slipped Blutarski the knife. He hated his prized weapon being in someone else’s custody.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get it back when you leave,” Blutarski said, sensing Cal’s unease. “I’ll be in the area if you need to make a quick escape.”

  Blutarski walked outside to stand at the guard post, leaving an uncomfortable Cal frozen in the foyer. Whatever was in Fonzie’s briefcase passed through the metal detector without incident.

  Cal cleared his throat, put on a Southern gentleman smile for the female officer, and proceeded through the metal detector. It beeped back at him loudly.

  “Be sure to pull out your pockets, sir. Most of you hotshot lawyers forget to take out your fancy cell phones, iPads, Rolexes. It’s all got to go through the x-ray machine.”

  Fonzie laughed from across the detector. His fedora was nearly touching his nose from Cal’s vantage point. How he’d escaped the officer’s scrutiny was beyond him.

  Cal placed his phone in front of the x-ray machine and waited for it to enter before going proceeding through the metal detector. Relieved that it didn’t beep back a second time, Cal smiled again at the officer and picked up his phone.

  “Did that big dumb cop tell you where the hell we were supposed to go?” Fonzie asked.

  “He sure didn’t,” Cal said, scratching his ear beneath the blond wig that fit too tightly against his head. “Wouldn’t someone tell us where the hell Tony’s cell is?”

  They looked farther down the hallway, only seeing a row of offices to their left. Cal felt a sudden nudge on his shoulder and jumped around, facing a short man dressed in a blue-and-black flannel shirt and a pair of dark-blue jeans. He donned a pair of brown leather cowboy boots and a brass stud with an American flag emblem at the front of his belt.

  “Howdy, gentlemen. M’name’s Detective Bobby Thomas. The captain asked me to direct you to Mr. Fregosi’s cell. Right this way.”

  Cal and Fonzie looked at each other and followed Detective Thomas, expecting a relatively silent trip before they could brief Tony in whatever holding cell he was in.

  “How long have you known Mr. Fregosi? The kid doesn’t have much of a legal record. Can’t imagine he could really be involved with somethin’ like this. World’s a crazy place nowadays, though.”

  “I grew up with his momma,” Cal lied. “She was a real nice gal, both of us bein’ from the same town near San Antonio. It was a darn shame she passed away a few years ago from the cancer. I figured it was the least I could do when I heard from his daddy that they needed an attorney. I’ve got a new practice and figured it could be my first pro bono case.”

  “That a fact?” Thomas said in an even thicker drawl than Cal was using. “I’m from Texas myself. Don’t know why I ever came up to this crappy state. The things you’ll do for a good job, though, am I right?”

  They walked past four empty holding cells and arrived at a fifth cell near the end of the hallway. Steel walls with secured doors led to the jail cells for short-term inmates behind the wall, with an expanse of even more division V prisoners in the jail beyond.

  “Well, this is it, boys.” Thomas fixed his gaze on Fonzie and nodded his head toward the door. “You might want to go in first, young fella. I need to have a word with the big guy for a minute.”

  Fonzie shrugged as Detective Thomas opened the door and allowed him to step inside. Disguised as Joseph Fletcher, Tony wouldn’t be spooked by Fonzie’s sudden presence.

  Cal diverted his gaze from the cell and back to Bobby Thomas. The detective was looking for something deep in Cal’s eyes. Cal swallowed hard, uncertain as to the man’s intentions. Thomas leaned closer to Cal, as if he were a new lover deciding whether to pursue a first kiss.

  “I expect the captain told you about your weapon,” Thomas said. He reached around to the back of his belt and pulled out a jackknife that looked exactly like the one Cal had surrendered moments before in the entryway. Thomas handed it to Cal and patted him on the shoulder.

  “My momma always said that sometimes in life, you gotta do what you gotta do. This is in case you gotta do that. Try not to make it too noisy. I can keep other cops outta the area, but we don’t want any of the other folks hearin’ anything about this.”

  Cal shook his head and entered the holding cell, closing the door behind him. He looked at Tony for the first time since he’d gazed upon the unconscious boy in the alley behind the pub.

  He was seated in a wheelchair behind a metal gray table, his skin as white as the walls surrounding them. His eyes were as far away and empty as a 1950s Chevy that ran out of gas in Havana. Cal figured Tony’s back had been shot up bad, but unless there was damage to his spine, he wasn’t sure of the need for the wheelchair.

  Fonzie was seated in one of the two chairs across from Tony. He had his hands folded and was leaning forward over the table, his fedora masking his face.

  Tony’s eyes settled on Cal’s as the hit man sat next to Fonzie. Tony’s face didn’t flash recognition or relief, which was exactly the reaction Cal had hoped for upon entering.

  “Howdy, young feller. I’m Rich Larson. I’m the attorney your father hired to talk to you before the police ask you any questions. You do exactly as I say, you’re gonna get out of this, you hear?”

  Tony stared blankly ahead, unblinking, his arms firmly clasped to the armrests of his wheelchair.

  “My father can’t afford to hire a lawyer. You’re one of the public defenders, aren’t you?”

  “No, young man, I’m a legitimate attorney. Opened up my own firm here in the city a few months ago. I knew your momma from way back. We grew up together in Texas. I’m taking this case on as a favor to your father, pro bono.”

  Tony cocked his brow. “Who’s the other guy?”

  Cal glanced to his left and shrugged his shoulders at Fonzie. It was a gesture he anticipated a snobbish lawyer would make.

  “Oh, him? That’s Joseph Fletcher. He’s fresh out of law school, but he’s one of the sharpest young men I’ve met. We’ll be prepping you for the questioning and stay with you when the cops come in and ask questions.”

  Cal hoped he wouldn’t have to stick around for the actual questioning if he convinced Tony to keep quiet. He didn’t want to get close enough to the cops for them to realize who he was. While he had never been specifically identified by the police, he was still a suspect for several crimes.

  “I’m sure you’re very scared,” Cal continued. “To be clear, the police aren’t charging you with murder. They have no evidence that says you killed anyone. At least not that I’ve been made aware of. What we want to do today is clear you of any wrongdoing. But before we do that, I’ll need you to tell me what happened.”

  Fonzie stood from his chair and walked about the room, stopping to inspect each wall and corner of the room before settling in front of the two-way mirror. After looking for a few seconds, he shook his head and stood next to Tony, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Tony’s eyes shifted upward to meet his, the boy’s expression signaling fear instead of reassurance.

  “Tony, I can’t help you unless you talk to me.”

  Cal saw Tony’s Adam’s apple jump up and then accelerate down into the base of his throat. His hands twitched against the armrest. Beads of sweat poured from his forehead like a dripping faucet.

  “I heard my father and this cop talking when I was in and out of sleep at the hospital. The cop knows about some of the work I did. I worked for some dangerous people that I wanted to please. I wanted to show I could be helpful to them.”

  “Whe
n you say you worked for dangerous people, who might these people be?”

  Tony shook his head.

  “Tony, you won’t be saying any of this to the police yet, only us,” Fonzie said. “They’ve got no cameras in here. They can’t tell what’s going on. You can tell us anything.”

  Cal felt a vibration in his pocket and saw the “No Caller ID” flash across the screen once again. For a split second, he broke character and fear passed across his face as he realized he’d have to let this one go.

  “Alright,” Tony started. “I’m a driver for these guys. They’re with the mafia. I don’t even know how I got started in it, but my dad works two jobs and we’re still really poor, so I figured I could chip in with some driving gigs along with my construction job to make us extra money. This guy I drive around has been following somebody for the last few weeks. I guess the mafia wanted him dead.”

  Fonzie cut him off. “You’re saying way too much, kid. Way too much.”

  “Leave him be, Joseph,” Cal said. “Go on, kid.”

  Tony told them the rest of the story, many pieces of which Cal knew little of. He hadn’t known that Tony had met with the Petrocellis and asked to help with the hit. He hadn’t known that Tony had intended to find Caruso on his own and kill him in order to get a stake of the hit money.

  He’d fallen into the same trap that Cal had fallen into with the mafia. More money, more opportunity, more respect could all be earned when you worked for such a powerful organization. Tony didn’t know what Cal knew, that it all came with a hefty price tag. Cal grit his teeth and nearly lost control of his temper when Tony told him there was another man in the alley with him, and the description fit Vinnie to the letter.

  When Tony mentioned he shot Caruso as he was getting away and Vinnie escaped after the other men tried to burst out of the pub, Cal lost all respect for his childhood best friend. Only a true coward would run away from a fight like that and let a young kid get slaughtered, even if his gun was jammed.