The Blood of Saints (Tom Connelly Book 2)

by Nick Dorsey

  Louis shook his head. He still had eyes on those green bikinis.

  “Come on, you can do some real work.” Dominic tossed his beer at an overfilled trash can. “And you can sober up. I don't want you passing out at the restaurant tonight.”

  “Who's passing out? Nobody’s passing out.” Louis downed his beer. “Let’s take an adventure.”

  Louis passed out on their way to Tom Connelly’s place. Instead of waking him, Dominic let the big man sleep. He walked up to the strip mall alone. Erika told him that he would see a sign for the private investigations firm, but all he saw was a laundromat and an empty window. He double-checked the address. This was it. He peered through the empty window but saw nothing but dust. Out of habit, he tried the door, but took a step back when it opened easily. Hey. Sometimes fortune smiles.

  Dominic didn’t hesitate. He entered the office and was immediately disappointed. The place was empty. His footsteps echoed off the bare walls as he walked through, going into the back room. He even peeked into the bathroom. There was nothing. Not even toilet paper. If this was once Tom's office, it wasn't now. Just in case he was wrong and Tom returned, Dominic marched to a corner of the room and unzipped his fly. He didn’t drink all that beer for nothing.

  Dominic left the door wide open when he walked out. He slid into his driver’s seat and slammed that shut. He came a long way just to piss in the man’s office. He planned on having words with him.

  Louis grunted and stirred. “What, are we there?”

  “No, forget it. Go back to sleep.”

  Louis obliged.

  Later that evening, Dominic told Erika about going to the office. She was sitting on the carpet and rolling a joint on the coffee table. Something Dominic didn’t like was playing from her laptop. Katie Perry? Somebody like that. Good-looking but not his thing, musically. When he said Louis went with him to the empty office, she dropped the rolling papers.

  “Wait. Louis knows?”

  “Knows what? Tom’s been in the restaurant, baby. He’s seen the guy around.”

  “I mean, does he know about Ernesto?”

  Dominic shook his head. “Of course not.” He wasn’t that stupid. Louis was a good guy, more or less, but they weren’t that close. Even if they were close, he knew Louis wouldn’t agree with what Dominic and Erika had done. That went without saying. Dominic himself didn’t have any regrets, be he had to admit, he took a big risk. But life was about risks, right? Life was about making hard choices, right? There was only so much room at the top of any organization, right? Ernesto was up there, not doing much. Taking up space. Keeping his wife in booze and shoes and running a restaurant. Where was the vision? Where was the ambition there? The guy had the world in his pocket but didn’t know what to do with it. Dominic just made some room at the top, that was all. And if he played his cards right, Dominic had the chance to fill that spot.

  Erika lit the joint and leaned back onto the couch. If he squinted, he could believe he had Sofia Adelfi in his living room. When he first saw her dancing at the club, that was what he thought. Wow, Sofia Adelfi in a corset. He bought her a drink and she was funny, and she liked him. That’s what got him thinking, why didn’t he have his own Sofia? There was no reason. That’s what got him thinking about lots of things. Why didn’t he run the restaurant and the game room? Why didn’t he have everything that Ernesto had?

  “Dom?”

  “Hunh?”

  “I was thinking about going to see my sister in Lafayette.”

  “What, now?”

  “This weekend. I’ve just been thinking about the guy showing up at the club.”

  “Tom.”

  “Yeah. He wasn’t an asshole or anything. It just weirds me out, you know?”

  “Okay.”

  “Like, I’m stressed out, now.”

  “I said okay.”

  He grabbed a beer from the fridge. Before opening it, he set the beer down and pointed a finger at Erika. “You wanted to do it, you know. So don’t blame me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Nobody’s blaming you. He’s just weirding me out. Maybe you should come with me. Get out into the country. Get some fresh air. See how the other half lives.”

  Dominic thought about it. It wasn’t a terrible idea. He wasn’t going up to Lafayette, to hell with that, but he liked the idea of Erika going. Get her out of town for a weekend. Hell, even a month. However long it took for the detective and the lawyer to wrap up their bullshit case and move on to something else.

  He popped the beer open and downed it. “I can’t go. It’s gonna be Saint Joseph’s Day. I’ve got work.”

  Dominic was looking over the books at the bar in the Pan Dell’Orso when Sal walked up and slid his cell phone onto the burl oak. The old man looked frustrated, which was probably a bad thing. Still, you never knew. The boss comes in with a problem and you help him fix it? That could also be an opportunity. Dominic closed the ledger and poured the man a coffee. “Everything good, boss?”

  “My sister’s calling me every ten minutes. She wants everything ready for tomorrow.”

  “Sure, I get it. But you don’t have to worry. I got it all planned out. We’re gonna set the altar up in the dining room in about an hour.” Saint Joseph’s Day was a Catholic feast day, a relic of old Sicily that had traveled with the Italian immigrants from Palermo to New Orleans. It was a celebration of Joseph, Jesus’ adopted father and the patron saint of that troubled little island. The saint was honored with mass, a feast, and an altar festooned with flowers, bread, and cookies. The Pan Dell’Orso had hosted the altar every year for as long as Dominic could remember.

  Sal took a sip of coffee and said, “You busy right now?”

  “I got a minute to talk.”

  The old man frowned. He pushed the coffee away and stood on the bar’s foot rail, reached over the bar, and grabbed an open bottle of wine. He poured himself a glass and downed it. “She’s worried about the cookies.”

  “I got pignolatti and pupaculova coming. We have enough sesame seed cookies, the biscotti regina, to last us until next year.” Dominic made the rejected coffee disappear. “I’m taking care of it. We got everything we need for the altar. Tell her not to worry.”

  “Lot of good that will do.” He poured himself another glass of wine. “Amelia wants the cuccidati and anise biscotti from Brocato.” Dominic waited for him to continue. Amelia LaRocca was Sal’s older sister. Not exactly a shut-in, but she didn’t come around. He had seen her at Christmas Mass, but before that, he couldn’t remember when he had seen her last.

  “I got them already. You want them?” Of course, he already had them. Dominic was on the ball. He was ready to run the show. He didn’t say so right then, though. He wanted Sal to say it for him.

  Instead, he said, “She wants the ones from Brocato. She said they were Ernesto’s favorite, so that’s what we’re gonna do.”

  Dominic knew Sal’s sister had been close to Ernesto, but she had been too frail to go to the funeral. Dominic was surprised that Amelia was taking an interest in Saint Joseph’s Day.

  Sal cracked a smile. “I mean, that’s what you’re gonna do. I’ll hold down the fort. You get the cookies.”

  Dominic said sure because that’s what you did when the boss asked you to do something, even if that something was running across town to get cookies you already had. But the day was warm and he didn’t mind leaving the restaurant for the afternoon. He parked in front of a Chinese restaurant, walked a few doors down, and ducked under Brocato’s red and white awning. It was cool inside the tiny shop, even with all the bodies packed in there. The little cafe tables were full of families and there was a line stretching down the pastry counter. Dominic frowned. School must have just gotten out, or something like that. He resigned himself to the wait. The place smelled like cold gelato and coffee and sharp licorice. Not a bad place to hang out, really.

  When he made it to the pastry case, he scanned the tiers for the cookies he needed but didn’t see them. A young wo
man welcomed him. The girl couldn’t have been more than seventeen. Dominic flashed her a smile and ordered the cuccidati and anise biscotti, three dozen of each.

  Her face fell. “We don’t have that many.”

  “You sure?”

  “I think so.”

  “Maybe let me talk to your boss?”

  She seemed unsure about that but turned to the woman behind her. She was short and round with grey hair tucked under a hairnet. She held a cannoli shell in one hand and a blunt knife loaded with thick cream in the other. The younger woman whispered something to her and she eyed Dominic with disdain.

  “I can give you a half dozen.” The older woman said.

  “Six?” Dominic shook his head. “I need three dozen. Maybe two, if you throw in some other stuff.”

  The older woman pursed her lips. She spat, “No biscotti.” There was a finality to her voice that surprised Dominic.

  “This is for the Pan Dell’Orso, though. You know that place?”

  “I heard of it.” Not the reaction Dominic wanted.

  “It’s Sal LaRocca’s place.”

  “Did Sal LaRocca put in an order last month, like everybody else?” She stared Dominic down for a moment, then returned to filling her cannoli.

  The young girl smiled so wide she showed her braces and said, “Is there something else I can get you?”

  “Come on. I know you got cookies in the back or something.”

  The girl glanced back at the woman filling cannoli, but she didn’t move to ask her. Instead, she tried another weak smile. “Maybe some gelato?”

  “Ice cream?” Dominic’s voice rose. “You want me to put ice cream on the Saint Joseph’s Altar?” He slapped the pastry case. “Come on. Just go in the back and find the fucking cookies, okay?”

  The girl gasped. Behind her, the old woman dropped her cannoli shell. She whirled around, a blunt knife aimed at Dominic’s heart, and snarled. “Out! Out!”

  “Wait, listen.”

  “Out!” The old woman let loose a string of Italian that Dominic couldn’t follow, but he gathered he was being cursed, or damned, or something. He left.

  Four bakeries later, Dominic had no cookies and no patience left. He thought the old bag from Brocato’s must have put the word out to every bakery in the city. Nothing for the guy in the nice jacket, no matter who he says he is. It was a crime.

  The last bakery was a little place near River Road. Dominic parked and promised himself he would keep his cool. No losing his temper. Ms. Amelia wanted her cookies, so, fine. He would get them. He walked in and a small, older woman greeted him. The bakery business was run by a syndicate of little old ladies, he figured. His face fell when he saw the pastry case.

  “I was looking for cuccidati and anise biscotti.”

  The woman behind the case shook her head sadly.

  “Fuck!”

  The old lady politely asked him to leave.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  When Tom got the call, he was sitting alone in the casino cafeteria trying to figure out how to lose a chess game to a child while still maintaining his dignity. He finally decided his dignity would have to go. Dennis had him dead to rights. Still, he thought he could take out a bishop or even a knight on his way down if he was lucky. It would be tricky. Dennis was getting better every game, and Tom seemed stuck in his ways.

  He was sipping cold coffee and studying the game on his phone when the thing buzzed and the Public Defender’s name popped up on his screen. He answered immediately.

  She sounded surprised. “Oh, hey. I thought I was going to leave a message. You’re up late.”

  “I’m at work. Casino cop.”

  “Right.” She paused. “Anyway, I just want to let you know I’m back in town.”

  “Already?” Tom didn’t like that. He was invited to an event where, he thought, the whole LaRocca family would be present. He wanted to be there, to clear the air before she came back to town. He didn’t know how much danger she was in right now.

  “I can’t hide out in the bayou forever. I’ve got a life here.”

  “I’d feel better if you gave me a few days.”

  On the other end of the line, Jean was silent. Then she said, “It was dumb to leave.”

  “It wasn’t . ”

  “Before this, I had a kid talk shit to me a time or two, you know.”

  “Those were your clients, I’m guessing. This guy Dominic is not on the same side of the table.” Tom was interrupted by somebody whooping as he came into the cafeteria. It was Ray carrying his dollar-store chessboard and raising a hand.

  Tom raised a hand, pointed to his phone, and turned in his seat to give himself the illusion of privacy.

  Jean was saying, “Anyway, I thought you should know. Just. I don’t know. I’m back.”

  “No, no, I’m glad you called.”

  Ray raised an eyebrow at Tom and set up their chessboard. He caught Tom’s eye and mouthed, “Dennis?”

  Tom shook his head and stood up, moving away from the plastic table to try and get some actual privacy. He spoke into the phone. “LaRocca invited me to a thing tomorrow. It’s going to be all morning, then there’s lunch . I’m going to go. Check things out.”

  “You mean you’re going to stir the pot a little bit?”

  “Maybe. It’s a church. A feast day or something. How much trouble can I get into at a church?”

  “You’re going to a church?” Tom could hear the smile in her voice.

  “Yeah. Don’t sound like that. I’ve been in a church before. It’s going to be fine. Sal LaRocca wants me to go. He invited both of us, I guess.”

  “He did?” She said quickly, “I’m going with you.”

  Tom watched Ray set the plastic pieces out on the cardboard. He didn’t like the idea of Jean going with him. Not at all. He had been invited by Sal and he took the invitation seriously, but he knew it could be dangerous. He wanted to see who came to these things, but he wanted to do it on his own. To observe the gangster in his natural habitat. Looking out for Jean would complicate things. He didn’t know how Jean would react if she saw Dominic, or how he would react when he saw her. Hell, he didn’t know what Dominic would do when he saw Tom. He said, “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. Things are happening at the office. I’ve got people looking over my shoulder now. The guy who tried to threaten me, you think he’ll be there?”

  “I think there’s a good chance.”

  “And his girlfriend is the Sofia Adelfi you met? The fake one?”

  “Yes.” Tom had to admit, he was looking forward to meeting her in the light of day.

  “Saint Joseph’s Day is a big deal. She’ll probably be there. If there’s another Sofia Adelfi running around, I want to see. Plus, I actually go to church. I can give you pointers.”

  “I know what to do in a church. You stand, or kneel, sing a little bit.” He paused. “There’s some praying involved, probably. You sure you want to go?”

  “I told you. I thought you’d be happy. You want to convince me this is a genuine mafia conspiracy, convince me. It’s not technically even my case at the moment. I’m not going to make a scene, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about.” Tom was about to hang up but instead, he said, “Hey. You really go to church?”

  “Sort of.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “I practice witchcraft every other Tuesday.”

  Tom laughed. “Don’t tell nobody. You’ll get us kicked out before we get lunch.”

  He hung up and turned back to Ray. He was sitting behind the arranged chessboard with a great big shit-eating grin on his face.

  Tom scowled at him. “What?”

  “Nothing.” Ray turned his eyes down to the board. “Y'all two in the throes of puppy love, taking each other to church. Adorable. First, you try to give her a gun, now you take her to church. I’m not sure about your courting style, though. Me, I take a girl out, to dinner, whatever. Then we go back to the
spot and do some dirty things. I’m talkin’ nasty. The next morning we go to church separately to make up for all the sinning we just did. That’s me, though. I’m just old fashion, I guess.”

  Tom drove through morning rush hour to pick up Jean. She answered her door in a long-sleeved wool dress that flared out at the bottom. It was deep hunter green and topped off by a black shawl and some black heels with a complicated strap.

  He said, “You look great.”

  “Do you only have the one suit?” That wasn’t far from the truth. Tom was about to defend himself, she was smiling. She hugged him. Tom felt her hands on his back. For his part, he held his hands away from her body as though her shawl would burn them. He wasn’t expecting the hug.

  In the car, he said, “But the suit’s okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Because I think you got me, fashion-wise.”

  “Green is one of Saint Joseph’s colors.”

  “Yeah? They all have colors? Like football teams?”

  “Yes, they have colors. No, not like football teams. You look good, though.”

  Tom took the compliment, even if she was just being nice. He drove the Taurus through the dregs of morning rush-hour traffic and down Carrollton. He pulled onto Oak Street and found parking in front of a chic clothing store.

  Jean adjusted her shawl against the breeze as they walked to the church. “Does Larocca own another restaurant here?”

  “Nothing in Pigeon Town. We’re going to the Pan Dell’Orso after.”

  Jean stopped on the crooked sidewalk. “Pigeon Town?”

  Tom shrugged and gestured to the neighborhood behind the string of shops. “I guess it’s Leonidas on the maps, but people always called it Pigeon Town. You never heard that before?”

  “Never.”

  “I don’t know why. I mean, there’s not a whole lot more pigeons here.”

  The church was a brick and stone building topped with twin towers, not quite hidden by a garrison of live oaks. The steel doors gave it the look of a fortress, but they were open. Tom nodded to an elderly usher as they entered and the old man grimaced back at him. They were not late, but that grimace made Tom think they were. The little church had a good crowd for a Thursday morning. The low rumble of whispered conversation and the occasional hacking cough filled the space. Tom and Jean found a spot in the back, behind a row of bald pates and silver perms. Jean genuflected. Tom did not.