Shadows from the Past

by Terry Ambrose

  “No. You may not. You come here right after those two men and claim you are an innocent? Please, Mr. Cosgrove. I am old, but not senile. What is your connection to them?”

  He told her what had happened earlier in the evening, how he’d kidnapped Bruno and taken him to Carli’s home. He even confessed his unwillingness to shoot Carli to get information. When he finished, Mrs. Neri grunted and lowered the gun.

  “I would have had no such compunction, Mr. Cosgrove. However, it is a heavy gun, and my arm grows tired.” She sighed and let the Colt hang at her side.

  Skip kept his distance and made sure his every move was slow. “Why did those men come to see you, Mrs. Neri?”

  “They are looking for my grandson Lorenzo.”

  “Grandson? Has he done work for them before?”

  “I had five children, Mr. Cosgrove. My Johnny was the oldest boy. It was his destiny to take over the family business. But three months after he married, they murdered him, leaving behind a widow who was carrying his two sons.”

  “Lorenzo was one of those sons?” Skip raised his eyebrows and held Mrs. Neri’s gaze.

  “And his twin brother Rodolfo.”

  “And now you’re afraid the cycle is repeating. That your grandson Lorenzo will become involved with these men.”

  “My grandson is not involved. He is a good boy.”

  “I hope you’re right, ma’am. But the trouble is, if he’s being visited by the likes of those two…there might be more going on than you know. I learned a long time ago that where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Even if he’s an unwilling accessory. Does he have an arrest record?”

  The old woman’s shoulders slumped as she stepped to her side and laid the Colt on a side table. “I am so tired, Mr. Cosgrove. This boy, he wears me out with his comings and goings.”

  “What about your husband?”

  “He passed. Last month.” She crossed herself and sighed. “My husband started a nightclub in 1966. It was his life’s dream. He built it into a successful venture and always intended to pass it down. My son Johnny loved the business as much as his father. He was to inherit everything, but when Johnny was murdered and my husband fell ill, his widow stepped forward. She took over on her twenty-first birthday because my husband’s health was failing and I was needed as his full-time caregiver.”

  “Your family has seen hard times, ma’am.”

  The old woman snorted and her voice hardened. “My daughter-in-law worked herself to death for eighteen years running that bar and raising two boys. Every night she worked to put food on the table. Every day she spent caring for those boys. Those men and their illicit business turned customers away and made our lives more difficult. That is why I curse those men. I would gladly shoot them both and dance on their graves, but that will not bring my son back. Nothing can.”

  “I understand your pain.”

  “No. You cannot understand the sorrow I bear. How can you understand that I live in fear my grandson will succumb to the temptations those men brought to this family? It should have been Bruno Panaman who died that day, not my Johnny. Not my family.”

  Skip frowned and watched Mrs. Neri’s face. Her blue eyes flashed with anger as she stared at him. “Why should Bruno Panaman have died that day, ma’am?”

  “Because the bullet that killed my Johnny was meant for Bruno Panaman—and he walked away untouched as my son died on the sidewalk.”

  “I can see why you hate him so.” Skip took a breath. He didn’t want to ask the next question, but something in the old lady’s story didn’t make sense. “And Mateo Carli? What did he do?”

  “He killed the man who shot my Johnny.”

  “Ma’am, I would think that would have brought you comfort.”

  “No, Mr. Cosgrove. His actions brought more pain. His actions showed my grandson Lorenzo that unlike the law, it is the criminals who can dispense justice. When Lorenzo heard of what Mateo Carli had done, he became one of them. I have cursed that man ever since.”

  “Is he here, Mrs. Neri? Your grandson?”

  “He went to the store to fill one of my prescriptions. I believe you to be an honest man, Mr. Cosgrove. He will be back shortly, and I must tell you, he is trying to become a good man like his brother Rodolfo.”

  Skip peered at Mrs. Neri, then asked, “And his father?”

  “Yes, Mr. Cosgrove, his father was a good man, too. If you leave your card, I can have Lorenzo call you when he returns.”

  “Thank you.” Skip reached slowly into his pocket and pulled out a business card. He held it out and the old woman took it with shaking fingers.

  “Now, if you will excuse me, Mr. Cosgrove. I tire easily these days. This cold is giving me a chill.”

  Skip apologized for the intrusion, thanked her, then returned to his car. The clock was ticking, and he had few options left. He tapped his earpiece. “I’m back, Baldorf. I just had a very interesting conversation with Mrs. Neri.”

  “You get anything concrete, dude?”

  “The puzzle is starting to make more sense. All these pieces are interrelated, and Mateo Carli and Bruno are smack dab in the middle. Where are they headed, anyway?”

  “Looks like Papa Panaman’s home, dude. Car’s only a few blocks away from there now. Where you headed next?”

  “I’m hanging out here. Lorenzo supposedly went to get his grandmother’s prescription filled. If Mrs. Neri is telling me the truth, and that’s all he did, he should be home anytime now. Can you take on a little more research?”

  “Totally. This got something to do with grandma?”

  “I want to find out about the death of John or Johnny Neri. He died from a gunshot wound. The attack was directed at Bruno Panaman according to Mrs. Neri.”

  “On it, dude. But what’s that got to do with getting the kid back?”

  “When I pressured Bruno for information on who Sonny would have gone to for help with a kidnapping, he took me to see this Mateo Carli. But Carli lied to my face, told me he knew nothing, then drove straight here. This all feels like it’s linked together, and I’m betting that between Carli and Lorenzo, one of them has to know where Lily’s being held.”

  “Hey, guess what? Your boy Bruno’s back home. Looks like the Italian dude is with him. They’re in the kitchen, and I gotta tell you, things are looking super dark for Papa Panaman.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Roxy

  CLOISTERED HERE IN the back of the bar, I wondered if I’d ever find my way back to normal again. In Jackie’s little world, the definition of normal ran the gamut from drunks and junkies to hookers and drug dealers and everything in between. ‘Normal’ had no meaning here. What mattered was staying alive.

  Jackie gazed at me, stroking his poor excuse for a mustache, apparently satisfied with my willingness to be part of his little strike team. “Angel, you and Drake are gonna work together,” he said, then pointed at Espinoza and Lopez. “You two are working the streets. Start checking with your customers. See if they heard of anything with this guy Carli or Sonny Panaman.”

  “And if we find out where this house is?” I asked.

  “You really gotta ask that, Angel?”

  The other three sniggered. Under other circumstances, I might have been irritated, but within this group I was the newbie and expected disdain.

  “I just want to be sure we’re not doing anything to endanger Lily,” I said.

  “Angel, there ain’t no guarantees here. The point is to get Lil back. We’re gonna do what we have to. I think you know what that means.”

  “I get it. But my first priority is Lily.”

  Before tonight was over, I intended to show them who’d been more naïve. I was the only one who knew I had three million dollars at the ready. If all else failed, I’d use that to bargain for Lily’s life.

  Jackie glanced toward the front door, then hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “All of you get out of here and find me that house.”

  The four of us stood, but Jackie raise
d his index finger in a subtle signal to Drake. Though Jackie was a supposed friend of Lily’s, I didn’t trust him. In fact, there had been plenty of times when I’d questioned Jackie’s motives about their supposed friendship.

  “Mind if I use the ladies room before we head out?” I asked.

  Jackie and Drake both nodded, then Jackie motioned toward the hallway and the back door with a tilting of his head. I promised to return shortly and slipped around the corner, then through the door of the restroom. On the count of three, I returned to the hall to listen.

  From my vantage point, I could hear Jackie speaking in low tones to Drake. “Watch her. I don’t want her getting in the way. And I can’t afford to have her giving five million to Sonny Panaman so he can put the old man’s operation back in play. We gotta put the brakes on this right now.”

  “You want me to take her out if she gets too close?” Drake asked.

  “Whatever you gotta do, Drake. You know the rules, no loose ends.”

  “Understood, but the kid ain’t gonna be happy if I have to kill her.”

  “I like that kid, but she’s become a big liability. After her mom died, I lost my leverage on her. She’s changed since this guardian angel took her in. And the kid knows the operation, too. That ain’t good. But if I’m right, Angel’s got money to pay the ransom. And that cannot happen. Got it?”

  “No worries, boss. She won’t be paying anybody anything.”

  I rushed back into the restroom, flushed the toilet, and rinsed my hands. When I stepped into the hall, Drake was waiting for me.

  “What I want to know is why they make paper towels so thin. You can’t even get your hands dry unless you use a dozen of them.”

  One corner of Drake’s mouth curled up, and he nodded. “Yeah. They don’t make them the way they used to. C’mon, we gotta go.”

  “Lead the way.”

  I fell in behind Drake and followed him through the same door I’d used on my first trip here. Knowing Drake had instructions to kill me if I got in the way didn’t make walking through a dark alley with him any easier. But I was a survivor, and I knew my best path to survival was to do exactly what I’d done my entire life—trust my instincts.

  “Where are we headed?” I asked.

  “You’ll see,” Drake said as he strode through the dimly lit parking lot to a pickup truck with more dents than I could count. He got in the driver’s door, reached across to unlock the passenger’s side and started the engine that rumbled with the throaty melody of a V-8 and a tuned exhaust.

  “Sweet,” I said.

  Drake glanced sideways at me, nodded, then pointed at the seatbelt next to me. “Buckle up. We don’t need to have a cop stop us for something stupid like a seatbelt violation.”

  I did as Drake instructed and pretended to look out the passenger window as the truck rumbled out onto the street.

  Drake kept his eyes on the road, flipped on his turn signal, then slowed and made the right onto Coast Highway. We rode in silence for a few blocks, then turned left at Wisconsin. The image of a skeleton on the side of a building for a hot rod shop sent a chill down my spine. Was it a prescient warning or simply coincidence?

  We continued on, neither of us saying a word, for a few more blocks. Somehow, I had to plant a seed with Drake that would cast doubt in his mind about Jackie’s instructions. It was how every con worked—raise questions in the mark's mind, leverage those questions with more until the absurd became the obvious choice. I continued staring out the side window as single-family dwellings gradually gave way to a few apartment complexes.

  “If Lily and I get out of this alive,” I said wistfully, “I’d like to buy a house. I think she might like a yard. And a dog. She said she’d like to have a dog someday.”

  From the corner of my eye, I caught Drake watching me. He nodded, but didn’t respond. For a man like Drake, it might be the best I would get.

  “How long have you worked for Jackie?” I asked.

  “Five years.”

  “I’ve been through seven jobs in the last year. Can’t seem to find anything I like. Does Jackie have a good pension plan?”

  Drake laughed and shook his head. “Ain’t no pension plan in our line of work, lady. But you already know that.”

  “Hey, made you laugh. Right?”

  He glared at me for a moment before he turned his attention back to the road and grumbled a quiet, “Yeah.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone that beneath that gruff exterior there’s really the heart of a nice guy.”

  “Lady, you don’t know nothing about me. That nice guy died a long time ago.” He grunted and made a left turn. “The guy we want is in the next block. Just keep your mouth shut and let me handle this.”

  “Got it. Mouth shut, no problem,” I lied. My plan had no provision for keeping my mouth shut or following directions.

  Apartment complexes lined both sides of the street. The truck rolled to a stop in the middle of the block, but Drake was looking at the one on our left. Something about the complex just screamed ‘low income housing.’ It wasn’t necessarily the ample security lighting or the sparse landscaping or the bland paint colors—which appeared to be tan with brown trim. It was the sum of the parts that made it what it was.

  Carports occupied space beneath the units in the nearest building. The minimalistic landscaping had been laid out in a boxy style which gave it the appearance of an obligation rather than an esthetic.

  “Out.” Drake opened his door without waiting for me.

  I followed suit, then had to rush after him to catch up. “Which unit?” I asked when I was next to him. He didn’t bother to answer.

  The interior of the complex was a large rectangle with a small pool in the center. Security lighting and the chain-link fence around the pool made the entire area feel uninviting and cold. As if the area needed anything to make it less inviting, the icing on the cake was the layer of leaves and debris floating on the water’s surface.

  Drake stopped and peered around the complex, then pointed to his left. “That way.”

  I followed, maintaining a discreet distance as we took the stairs to the second floor. Drake made a left at the landing and passed two doors before he stopped. Lights glowed through the drapes; a TV blared inside the apartment. Lucky us, whoever we’d come to see was home. Drake stood to one side of the door. He reached behind him, pulled out a pistol, and motioned for me to stand aside.

  I envisioned him opening fire the moment the door opened, but moved to where he indicated with the gun. “Is that really necessary?” I whispered.

  The glare he gave me said it all—if you don’t shut up, I’ll use this on you.

  Suddenly, my grand plan to transform Drake into something resembling an ally and using Jackie to find Lily seemed nothing more than a pipe dream. “You’re not going to kill him, are you?”

  Drake let out a slow breath and knocked.

  The sounds from the TV stopped and a man’s voice, sounding tentative, asked who was at the door.

  “Jackie sent me,” Drake called out.

  A moment later, a small man peered at us from the open doorway. He did a double take when he saw the gun, but then directed his attention to me. “Who’s she?”

  “Friend of a friend.”

  The man grimaced and let out a huff. “What’s Jackie want?”

  “Information.”

  That earned us another grimace. The guy at the door gave me another sideways glance, then backed away. “Get in here before someone sees you.”

  Drake gestured for me to enter first. I doubted if he’d suddenly developed manners. His display of gentlemanliness more likely had something to do with letting me take the first bullet. Or maybe he’d decided he needed to keep me in sight at all times.

  Once we were inside, the man closed the door.

  I extended my hand and said, “Roxy.”

  “Oscar.”

  His grip was damp and limp, and I resisted the urge to wipe my palm on my
jeans when he let go. He bit his lower lip and glanced nervously at Drake. “Why’d Jackie send you?”

  “I don’t like getting jacked around.”

  Drake kept his gun out as though he were expecting to use it at any moment. The Glock in my purse and the Taser in a holster at my back were useless in this situation—by the time I could pull one of those out, Drake could easily empty his entire magazine into my chest.

  Oscar fidgeted, then let his gaze flit between us. “What information does Jackie want?”

  “There was a house rented recently by Sonny Panaman. You know anything about it?” Drake’s voice, though businesslike, held a note of insistence.

  The man frowned. “Who’s Sonny Panaman?”

  “Jackie said you were tapped into the short-term rental market.”

  Oscar shook his head. When Drake leaned toward him, Oscar backed up and licked his lips. “This rental didn’t go through the usual channels? It’s probably day-to-day?”

  “That’s right,” Drake grunted.

  “What’s in it for me?” Oscar crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Drake.

  Drake shook his head slightly and sucker punched Oscar in the stomach. The blow came lightening fast and was powerful enough to drive Oscar back to the wall. He started to slump down, but Drake grabbed him by the throat, held the barrel of his gun next to his right temple, and said, “A chance to see the sun rise tomorrow.”

  I gritted my teeth and watched, knowing I was helpless to stop Drake from hurting or killing Oscar. Though Oscar might be a weasel, I had no desire to see him dead before he told us what he knew. That little smirk he’d given Drake had not only provoked Drake’s temper, but had been a sure-fire tell—Oscar knew something.

  When Drake released Oscar’s throat, he stumbled back against the wall and raised his hand in surrender. “The guy you want to see is Stuart O’Rourke,” he croaked.

  “Write it down,” Drake commanded. “And give me an address.”

  “Sure, sure.”

  Oscar gripped his stomach as he hobbled to the kitchen counter and scribbled down the information. He hurried back and, with shaking fingers, handed the paper to Drake.