MURDER TAKES TIME

Chapter 55

 

Rule Number Three―Murder Takes Patience

 

8 Months Ago

Frankie Donovan sat at his table, sipping coffee and staring at the log from the phone company. It had been almost two weeks since Nicky called and still no package. Something had gone wrong, and he intended to find out what. 

Should have done this sooner. He checked the phone bill and saw he only had a few calls the week Nicky called, and only one from out of town—Cleveland. What the hell are you doing in Cleveland? 

He drained his cup and called Carol. “Get me the numbers for whoever we need to talk to in Cleveland about a missing person.” Frankie shook his head and rephrased. “No, not a missing person, a material witness. They’ll look harder for that.” 

He finished dressing and headed in to work, giving Carol a picture of Nicky to send to the detective she spoke to. “Did you tell them it’s urgent?” 

“I told him, Detective.” She handed him a slip of paper. “Here’s his name and number.”

“Let me know if you hear anything.”

#

Tony Sannullo waited for the nod from the four guys guarding the door to Cataldi’s, then looked both ways before getting out of the car. He went to his table and sat down but ignored the crossword waiting for him, focusing on the door instead; Tito would be there any minute. 

Anna brought espresso when Tito arrived. He sat across from Tony. “Anything?”

“Nothing yet. We know they’re in Cleveland, but we haven’t found them.”

Tito’s eyes darted back and forth. He signaled the waiter, who took orders for breakfast. “Cleveland is a big city.”

“Yeah. Lot of places to hide.”

“Remember, Tony, when she was in Hershey we found her at church?”

“We’re checking, but there are a lot of churches in Cleveland.” 

Tito cracked his knuckles while he talked. “What else do we know about her? What does she do? What does she like?”

Tony sipped the last of his espresso, staring off into nothing. Two sips later, he burst out, “Sfogliatelle.”

Tito shook his head. “Don’t serve it here. You know that.”

“Not me. Nicky.”

“What?”

“Nicky loves sfogliatelle. He can’t go a week without it. He told us that’s the thing he missed most in prison. There can’t be more than a few places in Cleveland that sell it—half a dozen at best.”

Tito stood, walked over and kissed him. “You’re a genius.” 

After a second espresso, Tito paid the bill, and they prepared to leave. “If you need more men let me know, but find every place in Cleveland that sells sfogliatelle, and have them watched.”

As Tony walked away, Tito grabbed his arm. “Make sure you tell them that if they have a chance to take her out, do it. She has to go at all costs. We can get him later.”

“I don’t know about that, Tito. I wouldn’t piss Nicky off like that.”

Tito stopped and looked at him. “I’d rather they get them both, but she’s the more important one; besides, what’s he gonna do?”

“All I’m saying is, we don’t want to piss Nicky off. I’d wait until we can get them both.”

“You’re not running this show,” he said, and headed for the door.