Read Online Murder by Candlelight by John Stockmyer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Stockmyer
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fortunately, that had ... gone
out.
Two phone calls in one day. One right
after the other.
Unprecedented. ..........
Where was he? Oh, yes.
Reviewing his other problem.
It was while going over his talk with
'the D.J.' once more, that Z remembered something he'd barely heard
the first time, a suggestion that the radio guy had slipped into
the conversation. When bringing up the example of Howard Kunkle's
death, Jewell had advanced the supposition that the murder might be
Mafia-related.
A possibility that had never occurred
to Z!
Not that Kunkle's death had been a mob
hit, of course -- though Jewell may have had that in mind. No. What
was troubling Z was the possibility Kunkle himself had mob
connections.
Leading Z to ask himself if he'd been
... at least partly responsible ... for the death of a mob
figure.
As far as Kunkle's death was
concerned, Z was pretty much off the legal hook for that, the cops
so pressed for time with other nasty business that the Kunkle case
was already in the "cold case" file.
Interfere with "family" business,
though, and you'd better watch your back ... forever!
Could it even be -- this being what
everyone always said, a small, small world -- that Kunkle had been
one of Johnny Dosso's boys?
Z didn't like that thought. Didn't
like it at all!
Taking another minute to think about a
possible Cosa Nostra connection helped to cool Z's fear. There's
been no sign of organized crime activity in Howard Kunkle's place.
No drugs. Some hidden cash, but small change in the drug business.
True, there'd been those decks of cards. Could indicate Kunkle was
a gambler, gambling and hookers John Dosso's part of the "family"
business. Could be a rackets connection ... but Z didn't think so,
mostly because Kunkle lived in a dump. While big-time crime
couldn't promise you a future, it seemed to pay well in the
present.
Still ... just to be on the safe side
......
And Z was up and shuffling to the
office's flimsy front door.
* * * * *
Entering the south end of the Antioch
Shopping Center mall ten minutes later, Z was still so upset he'd
practically stolen a pay phone. (Done that by scaring off a
sub-human-looking teenage boy.)
Feeling ashamed of himself but
rattling in his quarter nevertheless, Z dialed International
Imports.
"International Imports." Always a
cultured, older female voice.
"A musketeer would like to speak to
John Dosso, please."
"I'm sorry, sir. No one of that name
works for International Imports."
"Sorry," Z said, hanging
up.
All part of the routine.
Johnny Dosso never worked for International Imports. The way it worked was this.
Because of John's fear someone would tap Z's office phone, if Z
wanted to talk to John, Z would go to a pay phone and call
International. Hear, once again, that John didn't work
there.
After that, Z would return
to his office, someone calling within the hour with another phone
number. (Always a different number. No sense memorizing it.)
Leaving to find yet another pay phone, Z would dial the mysterious second
number to find John on the other end of the line.
That being the arrangement, Z went
back to his office to wait -- a wait that turned into three, long
hours.
Troubling.
So worrisome that, on his way home, Z
put in another call to International Imports. Was again told John
didn't work there.
At 10 o'clock at the outdoor pay phone
at the 72nd and Prospect QuikTrip, Z called again. Same
story.
In the morning, at the Sinclair
station just to the south of the shopping center -- same
thing.
So, where was Johnny Dosso?
Could be on vacation -- John's nerves
seeming to have been shot at the reunion.
Could be out of town on family
business.
Could be holed-up so deep with one of
his young call girls that even his own "family" didn't know where
he was.
Or maybe, given the nature of Johnny's
work, that he was pushing up daisies.
Z was sweating once again. And no
wonder. Within the week, he'd had something to do with a man's
death, had his
out.
Two phone calls in one day. One right
after the other.
Unprecedented. ..........
Where was he? Oh, yes.
Reviewing his other problem.
It was while going over his talk with
'the D.J.' once more, that Z remembered something he'd barely heard
the first time, a suggestion that the radio guy had slipped into
the conversation. When bringing up the example of Howard Kunkle's
death, Jewell had advanced the supposition that the murder might be
Mafia-related.
A possibility that had never occurred
to Z!
Not that Kunkle's death had been a mob
hit, of course -- though Jewell may have had that in mind. No. What
was troubling Z was the possibility Kunkle himself had mob
connections.
Leading Z to ask himself if he'd been
... at least partly responsible ... for the death of a mob
figure.
As far as Kunkle's death was
concerned, Z was pretty much off the legal hook for that, the cops
so pressed for time with other nasty business that the Kunkle case
was already in the "cold case" file.
Interfere with "family" business,
though, and you'd better watch your back ... forever!
Could it even be -- this being what
everyone always said, a small, small world -- that Kunkle had been
one of Johnny Dosso's boys?
Z didn't like that thought. Didn't
like it at all!
Taking another minute to think about a
possible Cosa Nostra connection helped to cool Z's fear. There's
been no sign of organized crime activity in Howard Kunkle's place.
No drugs. Some hidden cash, but small change in the drug business.
True, there'd been those decks of cards. Could indicate Kunkle was
a gambler, gambling and hookers John Dosso's part of the "family"
business. Could be a rackets connection ... but Z didn't think so,
mostly because Kunkle lived in a dump. While big-time crime
couldn't promise you a future, it seemed to pay well in the
present.
Still ... just to be on the safe side
......
And Z was up and shuffling to the
office's flimsy front door.
* * * * *
Entering the south end of the Antioch
Shopping Center mall ten minutes later, Z was still so upset he'd
practically stolen a pay phone. (Done that by scaring off a
sub-human-looking teenage boy.)
Feeling ashamed of himself but
rattling in his quarter nevertheless, Z dialed International
Imports.
"International Imports." Always a
cultured, older female voice.
"A musketeer would like to speak to
John Dosso, please."
"I'm sorry, sir. No one of that name
works for International Imports."
"Sorry," Z said, hanging
up.
All part of the routine.
Johnny Dosso never worked for International Imports. The way it worked was this.
Because of John's fear someone would tap Z's office phone, if Z
wanted to talk to John, Z would go to a pay phone and call
International. Hear, once again, that John didn't work
there.
After that, Z would return
to his office, someone calling within the hour with another phone
number. (Always a different number. No sense memorizing it.)
Leaving to find yet another pay phone, Z would dial the mysterious second
number to find John on the other end of the line.
That being the arrangement, Z went
back to his office to wait -- a wait that turned into three, long
hours.
Troubling.
So worrisome that, on his way home, Z
put in another call to International Imports. Was again told John
didn't work there.
At 10 o'clock at the outdoor pay phone
at the 72nd and Prospect QuikTrip, Z called again. Same
story.
In the morning, at the Sinclair
station just to the south of the shopping center -- same
thing.
So, where was Johnny Dosso?
Could be on vacation -- John's nerves
seeming to have been shot at the reunion.
Could be out of town on family
business.
Could be holed-up so deep with one of
his young call girls that even his own "family" didn't know where
he was.
Or maybe, given the nature of Johnny's
work, that he was pushing up daisies.
Z was sweating once again. And no
wonder. Within the week, he'd had something to do with a man's
death, had his
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