MURDER TAKES TIME

Chapter 63

 

Who’s Next

 

Current Day 

Frankie jumped out of bed earlier than usual, gulped down his coffee and went to the office, marching up the steps to see Morreau. 

“What do you want, Donovan?”

“I think I know who the killer is.”

“This the rat-shit theory that Mazzetti told me about?” He said it without even looking up.

It didn’t look as if Frankie would get cooperation on this. He sat in the chair. “You’d have to listen to the details. It’s not what Lou thinks.”

Morreau leaned back. “I’m listening.”

Frankie told him all he knew—which was very little, and all he suspected—which was a lot more.

“So what are you asking for?” Morreau asked.

“Manpower. I think he’s going to hit Tito Martelli.”

“Let him.”

“Yeah, I know, but we still have to protect him.”

Morreau fiddled with his pen, took a sip of what had to be cold coffee by now—which forced Frankie to wince—then pulled out his duty schedule. After about half a minute, he shook his head and looked up. “You got Mazzetti. I can give you Higgins and Sapperstein.”

Higgins and Sapperstein. They weren’t the best, but not bad either.“I appreciate it, boss. This might pay off.” 

“You got a week, Donovan.”

“Thanks, boss,” Frankie said, and got out before Morreau changed his mind. 

“Hey, Donovan.” 

Bugs turned to see Mazzetti shuffling his way in. “Hey, Lou. We got help on the case—and some new leads.”

Mazzetti didn’t laugh, but he looked as if he wanted to. “Hope it’s got nothing to do with rats.”

“Stick it, Mazzetti.”

“All right. Fill me in after I get some coffee.” As he walked off, he asked, “Who’d he give us for help?”

“Higgins and Sapperstein.”

He shrugged. “We could do worse.”

“Yeah, I thought so too.”

#

Frankie went home early, hoping to catch a short nap before dinner. He parked the car, grabbed the bag of groceries he bought on the way home, then headed for the apartment. As he was going up the steps to the front door, he stopped. Frozen. Next to the stoop on the sidewalk lay a dead rat. He shifted the bag to his left hand, undid his coat and loosened the strap on his gun. He checked the street, then looked up to his apartment window. The shades were drawn. 

Moving back to the sidewalk, he nudged the rat with his shoe, turning it over. It was soft—a fresh kill. No visible marks. Again, he looked around, then entered the apartment building. He took the steps slower than usual, cautious about every sound, every movement.

When he reached his door he stopped, breathed deeply. As he pulled out his gun, he set the groceries on the floor, then, with his left hand, he grabbed the key and turned the lock as quietly as he could. He crept into the apartment, safety off, entering low. After a few steps, he knew no one was there. Could sense it. He stood, closed the door, and cleared the place, but found nothing. With his gun back in the holster, he checked the window, trying to see if he was being watched. The only likely surveillance spot was a bodega on the corner. 

Frankie opened the door, brought in the groceries—which he had damn near forgotten about—then went to the corner. He waited until a customer left the store then flashed a picture of Nicky at the guy behind the counter. “Ever see him?”

The guy gave it a glance. “I don’t think so.” 

“Look again,” Frankie said, jabbing the picture with his finger. 

The guy looked again. “What do you want me to say, that I saw him? Okay, I saw him.”

“I don’t want bullshit. You did or you didn’t.”

The store owner leaned over the counter. “I don’t think so.”

Frankie handed him a card. “Call me if you see him.”

He walked back to his apartment on full alert. 

I know that prick is watching me. Tito might be next, but he’s coming here too. As he climbed his steps for the second time, he wondered if Tony was being watched. And Paulie. 

Well, screw you, Nicky, if you think—

“Hey, FD. How’s it going?”

Bugs looked over to see Alex sitting beside the stoop, flipping a coin. He hadn’t noticed him coming up.

“Hey, Ace. Going good here. What are you doing?”

“Trying to decide what to do. Heads, I go steal some smokes from my mom’s boyfriend. Tails, I wait till he leaves and see if he left any money.”

“Money?”

“Sometimes he leaves me money if I go outside and wait while he’s…you know, with my mom.” He flipped the coin, but when he looked at it, a frown appeared. 

“What?” Bugs asked.

“Tails,” he said, with a sigh.

Bugs pulled a few smokes from his pack. “I shouldn’t be doing this, but here, take these. But you need to quit before you can’t make it up the steps anymore.”

“You can still climb the steps.” His words carried the defiance of the young.

“For now.” Images of Lou Mazzetti panting for breath came to mind; Frankie shuddered. “I need to quit too.”

He trudged up the steps, slower than usual, perhaps not wanting to know if he did get out of breath. He opened his door and went in. He set his stuff on the table, grabbed a bottle of water, and sat on the sofa. Thoughts of Nicky and Tony rolled around in his mind. He was tired of their shit. What the hell was he—a cop, or a gangster? He couldn’t afford to live in the middle anymore. Bugs reached into his pocket, pulled out a quarter and flipped it, covering it up as it hit the back side of his hand. Heads he was a cop, tails a gangster. 

He kept his hand covered for a long time. First he couldn’t make a decision on his own. Now he didn’t even have the courage to let fate decide for him. 

“Screw them,” he said, and put the coin back in his pocket without looking. “I’ma cop, and they’re both going down.”