Murder in Chicago Page 5
That was why they’d put the hit on him in the first place. He’d once been married to Shirley Morris, the ‘Black Widow’ who had left a trail of dead husbands in her wake. He was the third, and he’d thought she’d just had terrible luck with her first two spouses. The first had been hit by a car, and the second had some extreme form of food poisoning that left him in a coma for a few days before he passed away.
Naturally, being a mobster, he was initially suspicious of Shirley. But she’d seemed so genuine, both about her sorrow over the deaths of her previous husbands, and about her true love for Porky. She was a great actress.
That said, he’d still kept a slightly suspicious eye on her. He’d been inducted into the Mafia by his father when he was twelve and had been around long enough to know not everything was as it seemed. To that end, he’d installed a keystroke detector on her computer, and a tracker on her phone, which she knew nothing about. He’d tried to install a camera system in her salon, but getting it all set up without her knowing proved to be too difficult.
“Sir, that Ortega guy just isn’t budging on the property deal,” Edwin said. “The rest of the board is in favor of making the sale. Only Ortega is holding everything back. What shall we do, sir?”
Porky sniffed. “Get rid of him.”
Edwin shifted on the chaise lounge, not sure if he was more uncomfortable from sweating in his suit or being asked to arrange a hit. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know what you mean.”
Porky took a sip of his rosé, and said, “You know very well what I mean.”
Edwin said, “Sir, you can’t mean…?” He trailed off.
Porky launched his bulk off of his chaise lounge, lunged forward, and grabbed Edwin by the scruff of the neck. “Kill him, you idiot. You’ve arranged this kind of thing once before. You mean to tell me you can’t do it again?”
Edwin looked at the ground. “Sir, I don’t know if you remember, but I mentioned that I wasn’t really comfortable with that sort of thing last time, and you told me that we weren’t going to do it again.”
Porky pushed his sunglasses on top of his head and looked Edwin in the eye. “You know what could happen to this company if this deal doesn’t go through?”
“No, sir. I can’t see any potential ramifications.”
“You’re blind. We’d lose our reputation. Listen to this, Edwin. We’ve been doing property deals for less than five years, and already we’re flipping commercial buildings to the tune of hundreds of millions. I’ve never lost a single deal, and I don’t plan to start now. Do you want to be the man to encourage me to start losing?”
“Of course not, sir. I just… well… isn’t there another way to do it? Maybe we should bring Ortega here for a meeting?”
“Wonderful idea,” Porky said. “Then you can shoot him and push him in the pool.” He laughed raucously. “Just kidding. Don’t ever think of killing anyone here.”
“I wouldn’t think of killing anyone ever,” Edwin said. “I’m just taking your orders. But in all honesty, sir, I might have to reconsider my position with you. I didn’t sign up to organize murders.”
“Too late,” Porky said. “You’re stuck with me for life now. You’ve killed already, and you have no proof that I asked you to do it. You’re as guilty as I am, and you’re sticking by me to the end. Tell you what, Edwin, boy. Get Ortega out the way permanently, make sure this deal goes through, tie up all the paperwork and the deals, and I’ll make you CEO.
“I’ll even toss in a new Bentley or a Porsche or an Aston Martin, whatever you want. Arrange the hit now, go home, take the weekend off, and go car shopping with your wife. Sound good?” He didn’t wait for a response as he gave Edwin a hard slap on the back. “There. That’s a good boy. Off you go.”
Edwin left without another word, looking intensely stressed.
Porky laid back on the lounge again, feeling more worried than he looked. In all his years in the Mafia, he’d learned to hide his emotions very well. He was a little concerned about the Ortega hit. When he’d come to Miami, he’d vowed to get into the real estate business and be as lily clean as Mother Theresa.
He wouldn’t do any hits, and he wouldn’t cheat or swindle anyone. Perhaps he’d even find himself a good woman to make his wife, and he’d finally become an upstanding family man. He could even find a Catholic church and become a lay deacon.
But that hadn’t worked out. He’d found the real estate game was much messier and shadier than he’d anticipated. All the women he met appeared to be gold diggers. He had a girlfriend back in Chicago, and he decided maybe he’d get serious with her instead of looking for someone new.
The one thing he did find was a good church, but he’d committed so many sins during his life, he finally realized he’d never be considered for becoming a lay deacon. He’d stopped going to church a couple of years ago.
He thought it was pretty ironic that even though he was hundreds of miles away from Chicago and the mob life he’d left behind, he’d fallen into an industry just as dangerous and corrupt, where people still died in mysterious circumstances.
Given that, when he bought his estate, he’d added a huge perimeter wall around the whole ten-acre property, even though it cost amounts so big it made his head hurt. He also built a few guard stations around the perimeter where hired security lurked at all hours of the day and night, with dogs and guns at the ready.
He’d never felt safe after what had happened with Shirley Morris.
His phone, which was lying under his chaise lounge, buzzed. He strained around his big belly to pick it up. He looked at the screen. The screen read The Cook.
“Betty,” he said, overjoyed. “I’m so glad to hear from you!” They knew each other from his mob days back in Chicago, where he used to rent her back room to play poker and take care of other business-related issues.
“You hear what happened to Shirley? Are you that out of the loop now?”
“Yeah, I heard about it. Too bad for her,” he said. “Finally, all her wrongdoings have caught up with her. What am I supposed to do, cry about it? The woman wanted to kill me, for heaven’s sake. If it hadn’t been for you overhearing one of her conversations concerning me and tipping me off, I’d be dead as a doornail right now.”
“I’d trade you for Tommaso in a heartbeat,” Betty said. “If I had to kill you to bring him back, you better believe I would.”
“I’m sorry about Tommaso, Betty,” he said. “I know how it feels to lose people close to you. So how did she die?”
Betty told him about the scissors and the suicide note, and said that everyone knew it really was a hit. “The cops are staying out of it. They know it’s Mafia business.”
“You think she was a rat?”
“Naw,” Betty said. “Well, maybe. I don’t know. She certainly left a trail of bodies in her wake. There are a lot of people who would have happily rammed those scissors into her chest.”
“You and me included, right?” Porky said.
“Right,” Betty said. “I didn’t, though.”
“Neither did I,” he said. “I haven’t got time for settling past issues. I’m thinking about the future.” The sun was starting to feel hot on Porky’s big belly, so he got up, pushed his fat feet into his slider sandals, and padded across the tiles to the shaded flower garden. “So, talking about the future. What are your plans? Still doing a roaring trade of the white?”
“You bet I am,” Betty said. “And my back room is still in business.”
“Good.”
Betty laughed. “I thought you were going to give me a lecture. Tell me to go straight, to get out of the game, like you.”
“Well, we do what we have to, don’t we, Betty? It was my time to get out. Maybe your time will come.”
Betty laughed again. “I just hope I don’t get smoked first.”
“I’d be willing to bet you wouldn’t let anyone get close enough to you to do that,” he said.
“That’s true. You keep your circle tight, and I keep mine non-exi
stent. Anyways, I’ve gotta’ go and do some accounts. Take care, Porky.”
“Unfortunately, Betty, I have the misfortune of having to come to Chicago on some business in a couple of days. They’re having problems at one of my businesses, and I have to check it out. We’ll have to do dinner.”
“Okay. Sounds good. See you soon, Porky.”
CHAPTER 8
Al decided the best course of action for him to take was to go see Shirley’s daughter. Little Fingers was the one who shot out the idea over lunch the day after Al arrived. Al, Little Fingers, and Benny (Joey had some business to take care of) sat in the glass-walled apartment, looking out at the city, and Al was uneasy. He had these visions of snipers hiding on the roof of a nearby building, ready to burst a bullet through the glass.
Benny must have seen him looking around nervously, because he said, “That glass is bulletproof, by the way. That was something I asked ‘em about before I booked it for you. They gave me a funny look, I can tell you. I just pretended to be a nervous guy who was afraid of bomb blasts and terrorist attacks, heck, even his own shadow.”
Al shook his head. “Benny, ya’ shoulda’ been an actor.”
Benny winked. “Maybe I’d aspire to be one, except for the fact I make about ten times what they do.”
Al couldn’t concentrate on Benny’s banter. “So where am I gonna’ find her? Shirley’s daughter?” he asked Little Fingers.
“Um… she’s just had a baby. She’s married to Saul Russo. Her name is Angelina. She’ll probably be at home.”
“Saul Russo… Saul Russo… Name rings a bell.”
“Saul was a fixer few years back. Died of a heart attack. Think that was real, to be honest. He always stuffed himself full of red meat,” Benny said. “This is really Saul Russo Jr., but everyone calls him Saul. He’s young, about twenty-three, I’d say. His father had him late in life.”
“Oh, yeah,” Al said. “Think I remember the ol’ guy. Had a crooked eye, right?”
“You got it,” Little Fingers said. “I had to drop off a package there one time. I don’t remember the house, but I remember the neighborhood. They shouldn’t be hard to find.”
Al shuddered involuntarily. “Ima gonna’ make it work,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction. “Seems like everyone’s somehow connected in this sorry saga. Jes’ hope they don’t tip off whoever’s lookin’ for me.”
“You’re not going soft, are ya’?” Benny asked, poking him with the round end of his fork and laughing.
“No way,” Al said, shoving Benny by the shoulder in a joking way. “Bite thy tongue.”
Once he’d washed down all his chicken and potatoes with copious amounts of white wine, Al got a cab to the street Little Fingers had mentioned. He decided his best bet was to walk a little ways away from the apartment building and catch the first cab that came by.
He didn’t want to call a cab firm from the apartment, in case the phone had been tampered with. There were some scam masters around who could reroute any phone number sent to their own, and pretended to be banks, police, FBI, just about anybody. He had no idea who was trying to kill him, but if they were high enough up in the mob hierarchy, they could very well have control over that kind of technology.
It wasn’t a long ride to the street where Angelina and Saul Russo’s home was located. They lived in a large three-story house, on a row of other homes that were all the same. It was clearly an upscale street, and the driveways in front of the homes were filled with BMWs, Mercedes, and Jaguars.
Al paid the cab driver, then stepped out onto the street, looking up and down at each house. He realized there was absolutely no way to tell where Angelina lived. He took a deep breath, willing her to come out the front door of her home with a stroller, but she didn’t.
Al wasn’t one to turn back, so he marched up to a random house and knocked on the front door. After a few moments an old man opened the door. “Good afternoon, sir,” Al said. “Ima lookin’ for Angelina and Saul Russo. I heard they live…”
“Oh, them,” the old man said, spitting the words out with disapproval. “Yeah, they live at the last house down the street in this development. Think it’s number 18.”
He was closing the door when Al said, “Excuse me, but it seems you dislike them people. Mind tellin’ me why?”
The old man wrinkled his nose. “I’m sure they’re drug dealers. There are shady characters in fancy cars coming and going from their house at all times of the day and night. Mostly I mind my own business, but there’s a child in there. That’s no environment for a child. I should report them to child protective services. I will, when I get enough evidence.”
He looked Al up and down, as if realizing he’d said too much. “Well, I probably won’t, but, well, you know…”
“Okay. Thanks fer the directions.”
“Yeah.”
Al walked down to the end of the street, and sure enough, there was number 18. All the things the old man said played in his mind – all the shady characters coming and going. He really wished he was armed. All he could hope for was that he didn’t wander in on a meeting.
He checked his phone to make sure it was on, and that he could get in touch with Benny quickly if he needed to. Then he took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
Less than a minute later, he was met with the sight of a young woman in a sweatsuit, holding a baby in her arms. She had dark rings under her eyes. “You here to see Saul?” she asked in a tired voice.
“Hi there,” Al said. “No, actually I’m here to see ya’.”
“Me?” Her eyes narrowed. She was clearly suspicious of him. Al felt sad, in a way. Such a young woman, already suspicious and worried by being around too many Mafia characters.
“Yeah,” he said. “I wanna’ talk to ya’ ‘bout your mother.”
She stepped back defensively. “Who are you? You’re not a cop, are you?”
“No,” he said. He tried to read the situation and then made a snap decision that telling the truth would be best. He lowered his voice. “Look, someone’s after me. I think it might be the same person who got yer’ mother. I wanna’ find out who killed her and hopefully get ‘em brought to justice, so they can’t do the same to me.”
She sighed wearily. “You’ve got one heck of a job on your hands.”
“I know,” he said. “Used to be in the mob, but I retired and tried to build a new life. Lotta’ people don’t like that I was able to do that.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “I want to… Well, I just met you. How can I tell you that? But I want to get out. Sometimes I wish I could just take a plane to Europe and never see a single Mafia face again.”
Al laughed a little sadly. “Trust me, I know the feelin’. Listen, I’m really sorry about yer’ mother.”
Angelina shook her head. “Thanks. It’s been hard. Some people say she deserved it. She was no angel. I’ve known that from the time I was a little girl.” The baby whined a little, and she bounced him to make him settle down. “I want something different for my boy. I don’t know how many Mafia mothers I’ve seen that had to bury their sons. I don’t want to do that.”
Al nodded. “Hopefully ya’ can get out.”
Her eyes clouded with sadness. “I don’t know. Saul says he’s enjoying it.”
“I was once a young man in the business, jes’ like him. He’s probably caught up in the drama and excitement of it all.”
“Yes,” Angelina said, starting to sound angry. “How well I know that. Before Hudson was born, I didn’t mind. But now… well, it all seems so empty and immature.”
“You’re a wise young woman, Angelina,” Al said. “Not many see that ‘til it’s too late. I hope ya’ can get out soon, but it might hafta’ be without Saul.”
The defensive look on her face let him know he’d gone a step too far. “And you are?” she said.
“Oh, sorry, my name is Al.”
“Al…?”
“Al De Duco.”
“Wait, wait, jes’ a second,” Al said. “I jes’ wanted to ask you if anyone was botherin’ your mother before she died?”
Someone shouted angrily from inside. “Angelina!”
A worried look spread across her face. “Sorry, sorry,” she said quickly. “I have to go…”
Al thought quickly. “Let’s meet somewhere to talk.”
He could see the cogs whirring in her brain as she began to shut the door. “Fine. In two hours, the coffee shop on the main street, around the corner. Gina’s. Goodbye.”
She quickly shut the door, and Al had a feeling he should rush away from the house as soon as possible. He hurried around the corner, out of sight of the house. Then he heard the sound of running footsteps coming from behind him.
Al hadn’t lasted in the Mafia for so many years being stupid. He turned, facing back the way he had just come from, and began strolling along. He called Benny and tried to look nonchalant.
A young dark-haired man came running around the corner from the street he’d been on, then stopped, looking confused. Al could tell he was Saul, because he looked so much like his father. He had his hand resting on his waist, making it clear he was armed. “Hey!” he said to Al, his voice pumped with aggression. “Were you just talking to my girl?”
Al screwed up his face as if he was confused. “What are you talkin’ ‘bout? Ya’ got the wrong guy. I’m jes’ going to see an ol’ friend of mine who lives down there.” He gestured towards the row of houses around the corner.
Saul clearly didn’t know whether to believe him or not. “Right.”
Al casually walked past him. As he passed by Saul, he could feel his gaze following him all the way. He guessed there was no alternative except to knock on the old man’s door again.
“Oh, you didn’t find them?” the old man asked.
“Mattera’ fact I did, and I got a li’l too much of ‘em,” Al said. “If I give ya’ $100, would ya’ let me come in? I jes’ need to stay for five minutes until that guy stops watchin’ me.”