Read Online Murder Takes Time by Giacomo Giammatteo - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Giacomo Giammatteo
Ads: Link
knew about the girl. And he knew a lot more than what he was saying.
Three cold beers later Frankie quit work, thought about popping in an old movie, but decided to open his mail instead. He had the normal assortment of bills, and a large padded envelope addressed to Mr. Mario Francis Donovan.
Who the hell sent this?
He pulled the tag on the envelope, opened it, then reached inside, drawing his hand out immediately. “What the fuck?” Several roaches lay next to the package. Frankie grabbed the envelope by the bottom and shook it. More roaches came out. “Eleven,” he said, and remembered the significance. There was no question now that this was someone from the old neighborhood. Only a few people knew about that—Tony, Paulie, and Nicky. Maybe a couple of others. Frankie thought about it until his brain felt fried, then went to bed, falling asleep in minutes.
W HEN IMAGES OF THE roaches woke Frankie for the third time, he decided to get up and take notes. Years ago, he started keeping notepads by the bed, a little thing called the NiteNote. Greatest thing his ex ever bought him. He pulled the pen from the NiteNote, which kicked on a battery-powered light, then wrote on the 3x5 cards it held.
Bugs and roaches. Not coincidence.
Frankie decided to make a few charts.
Nicky:
Friends
Honor
Girls
Nuns
Prison
Fearless
Smart
Rosa
Tito
Cleveland
Tony:
Friends
Honor
Girls
Nuns
Mob
Conniving
Smart
Rosa
Tito
Brooklyn
Frankie learned early on that this line of thinking proved successful. As he went through the case, he would write down anything that coincided with these words, adding more as he went along, and perhaps scratching some off. Already he could fill something in, and he wrote next to the “Smart” column—killer is definitely smart. Has us confused. Knows police procedure. As more thoughts came to mind, he filled in the chart. When he hit a lull, he stepped back to look at it from afar. Sometimes it made a difference.
Right now Frankie wished he could distance himself from the case. But this was his first big homicide, and he needed to trust that his legendary Irish luck would pull him through. It had done a good job so far: it had helped him survive gang fights, a broken marriage, seven years on the force—street duty, robbery, drugs, back in robbery—all without compromising his morals.
He lit a smoke, vowed to quit once again, then laughed at his predicament. At least he could still laugh. Nicky could laugh too, but not Tony. A laugh from him was as rare as a curse word from Mamma Rosa.
Frankie got up to make coffee. Might as well take advantage of all the vices. He needed to be sharp for this analysis. He owed both of them that much, especially Nicky. And if this was Nicky, then Frankie had to help him. Nicky would do the same. He had done the same, many times. Frankie laughed at the memory of when Nicky backed down four guys just by staring at them. Never said a word. Of course he did have his father’s eyes. That was a scary man. Frankie often wondered about him, ever since that day in Schmidt’s back yard, when Nicky thought Mikey the Face was going to kill his father. It was the day of the roach races.
CHAPTER 14
ROACH RACES
Wilmington—19 Years Ago
I t was an early morning meeting and everyone was there: Tony, Frankie, Mick, Paulie and me. Tony recruited Paulie because we needed extra help. I wouldn’t go so far as to call Paulie stupid, but Tony manipulated him like Gepetto did Pinocchio.
I got everyone’s attention then laid out the plan. “We do it just like the track. We’ll make odds and take bets.”
“People in this neighborhood will bet on anything,” Tony said.
Bugs lit a cigarette and handed one to Mick. “Yeah, Shoes and Patsy bet on what color gum balls come out of the machine—twenty bucks a pop.”
“Who’s gonna catch the roaches?” Mick asked.
“Bugs is—who do you think?” I said.
Five minutes later, Bugs headed down to DiNardo’s basement with a jar. He
Three cold beers later Frankie quit work, thought about popping in an old movie, but decided to open his mail instead. He had the normal assortment of bills, and a large padded envelope addressed to Mr. Mario Francis Donovan.
Who the hell sent this?
He pulled the tag on the envelope, opened it, then reached inside, drawing his hand out immediately. “What the fuck?” Several roaches lay next to the package. Frankie grabbed the envelope by the bottom and shook it. More roaches came out. “Eleven,” he said, and remembered the significance. There was no question now that this was someone from the old neighborhood. Only a few people knew about that—Tony, Paulie, and Nicky. Maybe a couple of others. Frankie thought about it until his brain felt fried, then went to bed, falling asleep in minutes.
W HEN IMAGES OF THE roaches woke Frankie for the third time, he decided to get up and take notes. Years ago, he started keeping notepads by the bed, a little thing called the NiteNote. Greatest thing his ex ever bought him. He pulled the pen from the NiteNote, which kicked on a battery-powered light, then wrote on the 3x5 cards it held.
Bugs and roaches. Not coincidence.
Frankie decided to make a few charts.
Nicky:
Friends
Honor
Girls
Nuns
Prison
Fearless
Smart
Rosa
Tito
Cleveland
Tony:
Friends
Honor
Girls
Nuns
Mob
Conniving
Smart
Rosa
Tito
Brooklyn
Frankie learned early on that this line of thinking proved successful. As he went through the case, he would write down anything that coincided with these words, adding more as he went along, and perhaps scratching some off. Already he could fill something in, and he wrote next to the “Smart” column—killer is definitely smart. Has us confused. Knows police procedure. As more thoughts came to mind, he filled in the chart. When he hit a lull, he stepped back to look at it from afar. Sometimes it made a difference.
Right now Frankie wished he could distance himself from the case. But this was his first big homicide, and he needed to trust that his legendary Irish luck would pull him through. It had done a good job so far: it had helped him survive gang fights, a broken marriage, seven years on the force—street duty, robbery, drugs, back in robbery—all without compromising his morals.
He lit a smoke, vowed to quit once again, then laughed at his predicament. At least he could still laugh. Nicky could laugh too, but not Tony. A laugh from him was as rare as a curse word from Mamma Rosa.
Frankie got up to make coffee. Might as well take advantage of all the vices. He needed to be sharp for this analysis. He owed both of them that much, especially Nicky. And if this was Nicky, then Frankie had to help him. Nicky would do the same. He had done the same, many times. Frankie laughed at the memory of when Nicky backed down four guys just by staring at them. Never said a word. Of course he did have his father’s eyes. That was a scary man. Frankie often wondered about him, ever since that day in Schmidt’s back yard, when Nicky thought Mikey the Face was going to kill his father. It was the day of the roach races.
CHAPTER 14
ROACH RACES
Wilmington—19 Years Ago
I t was an early morning meeting and everyone was there: Tony, Frankie, Mick, Paulie and me. Tony recruited Paulie because we needed extra help. I wouldn’t go so far as to call Paulie stupid, but Tony manipulated him like Gepetto did Pinocchio.
I got everyone’s attention then laid out the plan. “We do it just like the track. We’ll make odds and take bets.”
“People in this neighborhood will bet on anything,” Tony said.
Bugs lit a cigarette and handed one to Mick. “Yeah, Shoes and Patsy bet on what color gum balls come out of the machine—twenty bucks a pop.”
“Who’s gonna catch the roaches?” Mick asked.
“Bugs is—who do you think?” I said.
Five minutes later, Bugs headed down to DiNardo’s basement with a jar. He
Similar Books
