Alibi II (12 page)

“What the fuck?” asked Tommy, looking at his cousin, covered in burgundy blood.

“I only cut off her pinky toe,” he responded, looking just like the cat who ate the canary. “I don’t think they know too much. She knows you are a Gatto, though, so you’re definitely not hiding behind that corny name of yours in the department.”

“The department knows my real name?”

“Yeah, and they know that we are an organized crime family. But she doesn’t know much more than that. She said they came to her last year to investigate any possible dealings with you and your organized crime family. She said her report on you was clean. She swears on everything she reported no activity in organized crime of any sort on your part and she said it was submitted over a month ago.”

Tommy looked up into the sky, then down at the ground, then at Patricio.

“But umm…I just wanted to make sure you want us to kill her, right?”

“I just can’t believe it’s Merva.”

“Why? Why can’t you believe this bitch is a fucking rat?”

“I’m with her every day. I never had a clue.”

“Well, stop fucking partying at night, drinking and doing drugs, going to work high, and pay attention, Tommy. You’re a fucking cop, come on, for Pete’s sake, whadda you expect?”

“No, really, I was with her every day. She was my partner.”

“Well, good for her, she had you fooled, so all that makes her is a clever rat, but a rat is still a rat, and they can’t be trusted, Tommy. Tell me what to do.”

“We kill Ross, they’re just going to send someone else,” said Tommy, thinking out loud.

“And we’ll pinpoint the next one, Tommy, just like we always do. It’s what we do, we catch rats and we exterminate them, we’re the mob,” nodded Patricio, his smile devious.

“You’re right, you’re always right, Patricio.”

“Frankie wants to cut off her head, you don’t mind, do you?” asked Patricio in solemn sincerity. “I mean…” he said, throwing his hands in the air, waving the cutting shears and Merva’s toe around, “being as though she was your partner and all, I just want to make sure you don’t have no problems or nothing with that?” he questioned his cousin, making sure that Tommy knew they were going to dismember her, ripping her body apart; every limb, every finger, every toe.

“Frankie can do whatever he wants, just so long as they never find her body, Patricio,” he said, kicking a pebble on the ground.

“No problem, Tommy, that’s no problem at all. They’ll never find this bitch, you hear me, they’ll never fucking find this toe,” he said, holding it up in the air, “let alone her fucking body, so don’t you worry, okay? I’ll make sure Frankie does a real good job in there. Trust me, I’ll take care of everything.” He turned from his cousin, somewhat troubled. “Tommy, you know Frankie and Joey…I think this shit gets them fucking high. Me…I can’t do body parts anymore,” he said, twirling Merva Ross’s pinky toe between his fingers as he moved his hand, using the toe to express himself. “You know, the blood…it freaks me out later. I have nightmares and everything.”

“Really?”

“Fucking A, I’m in therapy from this shit, you know?” Patricio nodded, proud of the fact he was getting help. “Fucking cutting off this bitch’s toe has really set me back, though. Maybe I shouldn’t have done it,” he added, twirling the brown pinky toe between his fingers, thinking seriously of all the money wasted with Dr. Fredericks, his current psychiatrist.

Tommy looked at his cousin. “I believe you.”

“You mind if I stay out here with you for a while?”

“Of course not, be my guest.”

And he did. Patricio, Frankie, and Joey were silent hit men for the Gatto crime family. They had killed many. And they made their enemies disappear, literally, never to be heard of or found again. They had all kinds of ways of making someone simply vanish. However, somebody like Ross, a police detective, had to be completely disposed of. There was no doubt there would be a manhunt for her once it was determined that she was missing. Thank God, Frankie’s younger brother was a zookeeper. They could be at the zoo later, feeding pieces of Merva to the lions and tigers, if they wanted. Frankie’s brother could mix her right in with the daily feed. And Carmen’s brother, Dave Pangione, who owned and operated a funeral home, could cremate a body, no questions asked. And then there was Patricio’s father, who had the concrete trucking company. Merva could be a solid concrete brick in the bottom of the Schuylkill before the sun came up. Or she could be ashes by breakfast, waiting to be scattered in the wind. It was just that easy for them to kill someone and dispose of the body, and everybody knows if there’s no body, there’s no case, and all Merva Ross would ever be was a missing persons report. Of course, Tommy would have to help hold vigils, and lead the missing persons investigation, which of course he would. He’d even shed a few tears, fearful that she had been abducted, never to be heard of or seen again. And no one would question it, because he was an officer of the law.

The Next Morning
6:21 a.m.

L
iddles had followed Wink Tyler for the past two weeks and watched his mother’s house every night, every morning, sometimes all day and knew the comings and the goings of the Tyler family like they were his own. Every morning Wink would pick his mother up and give her a ride to work at six-thirty in the morning. Wink would come from either of two locations, his apartment or the spot where he hustled. It was fortunate that this morning was like no other and no one had left the house; all were inside.

He watched the movement of the street carefully. It was a little after six in the morning. He grabbed his vase of tiger lilies and closed his car door, locking it behind him. He made his way up the front porch, pulled the screen door, and knocked, waiting for an answer.

“Who?” shouted a girl’s voice behind the door.

“FTD flower delivery for Ms. Tyler,” said Liddles as Leslee Tyler peeked out the tiny square window of the front door at the delivery guy holding a bouquet of flowers.

He could hear the girl behind the door unlocking the locks, and just as the door opened, he grabbed the girl, dropping the bouquet of flowers onto the floor, and closed the door behind him.

“Momma, Ma…” She didn’t get a second word out. Before she could speak, Liddles fired off a round, shooting Leslee in the head, the bullet penetrating and lodging in her skull.

“Leslee, what in the world is all that noi—” Just as Mrs. Tyler walked around the corner from the kitchen, Liddles fired two rounds, dropping her where she stood.

“Momma, no!” screamed her youngest son, Miles, who ran over to her fallen body on the floor. Liddles fired and shot the young teen once, the bullet hitting him in the head. His body fell on top of his mother’s. Liddles turned around at the sound of Linda moving around upstairs.

“What’s going on down there,” a groggy Linda hollered from upstairs. She walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

She could hear footsteps coming up the stairs, moving down the hall. The doorknob twisted as someone tried to open it.

“Hey, I’m in here, wait a minute.”

Silence fell until Linda opened the door.

“Who are you?” asked Linda, in her nightclothes, at the sight of Liddles.

“The Grim Reaper,” said Liddles before raising his arm and shooting Linda in the chest. He watched as her body fell backward and then stood over her and shot her in the head.

Just as he was walking down the stairs, he heard the front door opening. He hopped down the last steps, hit the floor, and dashed over to the other side of the wall where Wink would enter the living room.

What in the world, why she got these big-ass flowers blocking the door?

“Mom?” Wink called out, hoping she’d hear him and come get her flowers. Slowly he pushed the vase as he opened the door. He saw his sister Leslee’s gunned-down body sprawled across the floor. She looked up at her brother, unable to move, but following the sound of his voice at the door. They finally locked eyes, her look of fear telling a story without her speaking a word. And just as he reached for his piece, Liddles spun around the side of the wall, his gun in his right hand, his left hand supporting the right. He lined up his shot as if he were an officer of the law.

“Wait, don’t kill me,” said Wink, not wanting his time cut short. He had to think quickly, he had to do something to try to save himself. “Please, don’t kill me, I’ll give you anything you want.” He stopped for a moment as he calmed down and caught his breath. “I got fifty thousand dollars in the basement. It’s yours, for my life. Take it and go, deal?” asked Wink as he looked his family’s’ assassin in the eye. The way Wink figured, whoever had sent him was being paid; maybe he could pay more. If he could buy his life back, then that’s exactly what he would do.

“Fifty? Nigga, hold that,” he came right back, as if Wink had to be joking. He shot him once right between the eyes. He watched Wink’s head fly back as if detached. Wink’s body fell back against the wall. A dying man, still standing, he looked at his murderer.

“Why?” he whispered, near his last breath.

“’Cause, nigga, I am my brother’s keeper.” Liddles pulled the trigger, once more hitting him straight between the eyes. Wink’s head bobbled forward, backward, then slowly Wink held his head and looked at Liddles with nothing but vengeance, a wrath between the two they could settle in other space at another time. Staring at the Grim Reaper dead on, his eyes asked the same question, “Why?” but he couldn’t speak. Liddles shot him in the chest, piercing his heart, finally dropping him. He looked behind him for a split second, and for whatever reason, he felt good; his brother could now rest knowing that he didn’t die alone and he didn’t die for nothing.

Leslee lay quiet and still, her eyes closed. She pretended to be dead, her mind in prayer, begging God for her life, that she not die, that she was not ready. The last and only one in her house alive, she heard Liddles pick up his oversized bouquet of flowers, and with a handkerchief he had in his pocket, wipe the doorknob before he closed the door behind him, careful not to leave any fingerprints behind him at the crime scene. Within a matter of minutes, Leslee would take her last breath as Liddles walked down the street, using the flowers to shield his face. He got into his car and drove down the block, completely unnoticed. The time was six-twenty-five and the sun was slowly rising over the city, bringing with it a new dawn and a new day.

Vivian rolled over, reaching for Tommy, but he wasn’t there. She opened her eyes and looked at the digital clock on the nightstand. It was six-twenty-five in the morning.

“Tommy,” she called out, asking if he was there.

“Yeah, honey,” she heard him reply from the living room.

Comfortable knowing that he was there, she rolled back over, stretching like a cat before getting out the bed. She went into the bathroom, emerged down the hall and found Tommy, lying on the couch, one hand on his boxers, his other hand dangling off the sofa, a blanket half covering him.

“Why are you out here on the couch?” she asked, as he realized she definitely didn’t know he had been out last night.

“I couldn’t sleep, babe. I was just tossing and turning all night. I came out here so I wouldn’t wake you,” he lied, holding her body close to him.

“You want some coffee?”

“I think we should get married, Vivian; let’s go down to City Hall, you want?” he asked, with more motives than a serial killer.

“Tommy, are you all right, you got a fever or something, ’cause I know you’re joking, right?” Vivian asked, sounding more and more Italian every day.

“Would I kid around about something like this?” he asked.

“Oh, my God, I love you,” she exclaimed. “I love you, Tommy, I swear you’re the best!”

“Good morning, kiddo, it’s a beautiful, bright, and sunny morning.” Nurse Hanzer pulled back the curtains and let the sun shine in as she did every morning. Faithfully, she serviced her patients as if they actually would respond to her. She worked the coma ward and the ICU station of the hospital where Beverly was so that she could be properly monitored. Because she wasn’t awake, she needed special care, special monitoring, and Nurse Hanzer took care of her patients as if they were indeed her very own children. The best part about her job was that she had no patients to trouble her. No one wanted ice, chips, water, Jell-O, juice, help to the bathroom, an extra blanket, a bed change, or a bath, or needed a question answered, because all of them were sleeping like little angels.

Walking into room 1624, she never once realized Beverly was fully awake, lying in her bed, eyes open, staring straight at her. Beverly could hear Nurse Hanzer moving about the room, speaking to her, the sudden bright light blinding her as Nurse Hanzer threw back the curtains. She closed her eyes, opened them again, and let her pupils dilate. Nurse Hanzer was standing above her, reading the monitors and writing down Beverly’s stats.

“Wow, you’re doing great, kiddo,” she said, still not aware that Beverly was watching her every move. “It’s six-thirty-seven, sleepyhead, time you woke up and got your morning cup of coffee…Oh, my Lord and savior, somebody help,” she screamed, dropping her chart as her eyes met Beverly’s and she realized her patient was conscious.

She immediately ran out the room as if she had just seen a ghost. She called out for Nurse Jenkins as she ran over to her station and called into the doctor’s unit for immediate assistance. Nurse Jenkins was right behind her as they both ran back into the room within ten seconds, straight to Beverly’s bedside. She smiled down on Beverly, rubbing her head and taking her pulse at the same time.

“Oh, my, can you hear me, honey?” asked Nurse Hanzer, as Beverly moved her head up and down, answering yes.

“It’s like a miracle,” she whispered under her breath to Nurse Jenkins. “Truly a miracle.”

Arizona State, 1988

G
o, Tigers! YEAHHH!” screamed Daisy. She was cheerleading, “Give me a T, give me an I,” as the quarterback threw a perfect pass to Dustin Webb, a wide receiver, who ran the ball from the twenty yard line down the field to score a touchdown to win the game with only three minutes left in the last quarter. The cheerleaders shook their pompoms while screaming to the top of their lungs as they jumped up and down. The Tigers won the game 21–17.

College football was just as exciting as watching pro football on Sunday night. And afterward everyone would gather at McClintock Hall to celebrate. Of course, there’d be several frat parties on campus, too. Daisy wouldn’t be able to attend, she had a test the next day in her Physics 101 class. Her grades would never get her on the Dean’s List, but they would get her a college diploma. Besides cheerleading, she was pledged to the Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority, worked in the administrative office, and had settled into college life, quite perfectly. She still had plenty of money tucked away. So she was rather well off, with close to fifty thousand dollars, compared to the average college student, who was flat broke and calling home every month for an allowance to get by.

“Hey, Diana, coming to Sean’s party?” asked Sandra Boggs as she breezed by on her way to one, if not crashing a few, of the many campus parties.

“No, I’m in the library, probably all night. I got exams in Mr. Deutchel’s Physics 101 class tomorrow.”

“Oh, no, he’s really tough. Good luck.” Sandra smiled as she walked past Daisy.

I’ma need it,
Daisy thought to herself. She hurried along to study in the campus library, finding it rather empty. After getting settled, she pulled out her study sheet and began her search for a collection of books she would need as study tools. Bending down and filing through a shelf, she accidently backed up, bumping her butt into Webster Praeliou, another student, pushing him into the bookcase shelving.

“Ooops, I’m so sorry,” she said, smiling and giggling as she turned around, not realizing that she had knocked his glasses off.

“Oh…um…me, too,” said a tall brown-skinned guy, who actually hovered above her at six feet one inches tall.

“Wow, you sure are tall,” she said, mistaking him for a basketball player.

“Yeah…,” he said locking in on her greenish hazel eyes, unable to stop staring at her. “You sure are beautiful,” he remarked, staring at the most beautiful girl he had ever laid his eyes on.

“Awww, thank you,” she purred, smiling, batting her eyelashes, and sticking her chest out toward him just a little as she corrected her posture like Mrs. Isaacs had taught her.

“Chest out, shoulders back, head straight, and don’t let those books fall off your heads, ladies, let’s go, march in your circle, as I have taught you.”

She could hear Mrs. Isaacs, her etiquette teacher, in her head, and all the golden rules for being in the presence of a man. “Least is always best when dealing with a man.”

That woman was so right. She had taught Daisy so much. It wasn’t until Daisy found virtue that she truly understood how ill-mannered she had been in the past and learned how to conduct herself.

“What’s your name,” he calmly asked, hoping she couldn’t sense how nervous he was.

“Diana Poitier,” she said, smiling enchantingly at him. “What’s yours,” she asked right back, showing interest.

“Webster…Webster Praeliou,” he said, extending his hand to formalize their introduction.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Webster,” Daisy said as he held her hand in his.

“No, really, the pleasure is all mine.”

Daisy talked to Webster at the table where she was supposed to be studying for Mr. Deutchel’s final exam all night. The two talked about everything under the sun. It turned out that 
Webster
 wasn’t a basketball player, he was a doctor, a neurosurgeon, about to begin his residency.

“Wow, that’s amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as smart as you in my life,” she joked, giving him one of many compliments. Daisy was taken with him and his various accomplishments. He was the only man she had ever met who was studying to be a doctor, and the best part was, he was black. And while he was older than she was, his life had been spent studying year after year, making many a social sacrifice to attain his doctorate. Yet the sacrifice for Webster wasn’t a burden. It was the challenge placed before him to become the world’s top neurosurgeon. It was all part of the Praeliou design sculpted by his father, Webster Praeliou III. His brother, Seth Praeliou, had already won a seat as city councilman at large and was a contender to be the first black senator for the state of Arizona. And one day, part of the design would be for him to run for the presidency. The Praeliou family had been born into vast wealth, stemming from their great-great-grandmother, who was born in New Orleans to a Frenchman and a Creole. She inherited two châteaus in France from her daddy’s side and a vast swampland from her momma’s great-grandfather, left to her great-grandmother when he died a sudden death of a heart attack. His family was led to the Dotterhouse, expecting a boardinghouse, only to find he had died in a whorehouse. The whore, whoever she was, surely gave him the time of his life, to say the least.

By daybreak, Daisy and Webster were still engulfed in their conversation. And even though both had classes in a couple of hours, they took the last bit of free time they had, and instead of returning to their rooms to freshen for the day, they ended at the coffee shop, sipping coffee, laughing, talking, and falling completely in love with one another. It was indeed a classic storybook romance that blossomed in the library that cold December evening and Daisy had finally found her Prince Charming. 
Webster
 was a very caring and a very kind man. Not harsh, not egotistical, and more scientist than ladies’ man, all characteristics she was far from accustomed to.

As time passed, Webster would enter his residency. And Daisy would graduate from college in 1990 and quickly use her bachelor’s degree in psychology to obtain an entry-level position as a social worker at the Children’s Hospital in Phoenix. Up until she met Webster, she had really never experienced a true and honest relationship. Webster made her see her life much more clearly. He was a good-hearted person, a kind soul, and a gentle spirit. He opened doors for her, took her to the best restaurants in and outside of Phoenix and Scottsdale, spent all his free time with her, and called her at least twice a day regardless of how busy he was, just to make sure she was okay. He often offered to buy her things, but Daisy decided that he was too nice and she couldn’t take his money. Well, actually, she didn’t need it. She had plenty of money still tucked away, thanks to weasel-ass Reggie’s trying to be so slick. She actually didn’t feel so bad cashing in on her dead momma’s Social Security checks after she realized that her account’s being frozen was the only thing that had saved her from Reggie getting away with his check scam on her. She thought about all the creeps she had slept with, some of them so deviant that the law had sex codes to arrest such people. Unfortunately, in Daisy’s previous line of work, the more deviant they were, the better customers they would become. They could pay, do all sorts of things the average woman would never allow to be done to her body, and leave in a three-piece suit as if leaving a business meeting on Wall Street. Even she was completely humiliated at some of the things she had done for money.

She thought of Webster. The last thing on his mind was fun. He studied the complexities of the brain. The thought of his being able to save people’s lives really attracted her to him. He was a fascinating man. Webster lived off-campus and had his own apartment. He cooked, cleaned, and was incredibly neat. His conversation was different, because he didn’t speak with the slang she was accustomed to hearing from the guys that she normally dated. His clothes weren’t trendy at all, but that was irrelevant. Over time, Daisy came to appreciate Webster more than anyone she had ever met in her life. He became the only person in the world she could truly call her friend. They did everything together, at least everything humanly possible, considering they both had classes.

“Hey, Diana, we’re going to the movies. Want to come?” asked Paige, swinging open their dorm room door. She looked like a little girl, with two ponytails on the sides of her head, legging stockings, sheer white pantyhose, a skirt, and a leather jacket, a complete remake of
Pretty in Pink
gone punk rocker. Paige had turned out to be the best friend she ever had, the sister she always wanted, the only person in the world she ever thought of telling the truth to but didn’t. She always remembered what Lori Snelling told her.

“Never, ever tell anyone, ever, that you are in police protective custody, or everything you’ve done, everything we’ve done getting you here, will be jeopardized, and trust me, no one keeps secrets, someone always tells someone else. Keep this to yourself until the day you die.”

Lori held Daisy’s shoulders, staring into her eyes, making her promise.

“I won’t tell a soul,” said Daisy, and she never ever would. That would be one secret she would carry to her grave, and as far as she was concerned Daisy Mae Fothergill never existed.

Whenever anyone asked, she simply made up a story, a good, heartbreaking, tear-jerker story, and people believed her.

“My parents died in a fatal car accident when I was a little girl. My dad’s brother and his wife, my aunt Lori, raised me. They’re okay, but it’s not the same, you know,” said Daisy as she pretended to be sad. She would over the years repeat that story until she knew it like the back of her hand and no one would ever think different, especially her roommate, Paige.

“Well, I’m not leaving you here alone for the holidays,” said Paige, now sitting straight and determined. And she did take her home, every year, on every holiday since they had become roommates. Paige opened her heart and her family’s home so her friend wouldn’t be alone.

“No, I can’t go to the movies, I’m going over to Webster’s, but maybe next time,” said Diana Poitier, who had groomed herself into the perfect college student, with the perfect grades, the perfect friends, and the perfect boyfriend, who would one day be her perfect husband, and she would live a perfect life. It was destined for her.

Green Penitentiary, Waynesburg, Pennsylvania

Nard was only twenty-one when he went inside, a baby. And when you’re as young as Nard, with as much notoriety as the Somerset murder case had brought, you’re going to have a lot of guys waiting to see just what you’re made of when you get there. And that was certainly the case for Nard. But Nard had bigger fish to fry; Nard had a hit put out on him before he even touched down inside Green, and worse, he had no one to hold him down. Wink had already put the word in and Nard was nothing more than a dead man walking.

In prison, it was another world, survival techniques were different, cooking techniques were different, communicating techniques were different, and the art of war was different. There were no guns in prison. You had to man up, and most problems were settled the old-fashioned way, though some were not. Incidents of gang-related violence in Green were commonplace. The warden turned a deaf ear and a blind eye and so did the correctional officers. Anything could happen to you in prison and no one would see a thing and no one would say a word. Your beef was yours to settle and it was every inmate for himself. That’s why the gangs were so relevant and very much needed. Who was going to look out for you? If you didn’t join a gang, then you joined Islam, and even then there weren’t any guarantees that nothing would happen to you.

Life inside Green changed many a man into an animal and many an animal into a beast. Reform and rehabilitation was the pretense created by the prison system to justify itself but the truth was that nobody was getting rehabilitated—if anything, they came home worse than when they went in. And Nard unfortunately was now a number, and for Nard, the road inside Green would be the roughest road of his life.

He remembered the day after he was sentenced and the news that his momma had been shot in the head and was in the hospital, how, behind bars, he couldn’t do anything to help her. How he wished his life had turned out differently. Shortly afterward, he was shipped off to Green, his possessions and things from his cell at CFCF packed up and shipped to Green for him. After two weeks of being confined to quarantine he was let out into population. Assigned to D block, cell 14, he clearly had no options but the top bunk. His celly, some nigga from Southwest Philly named Otis, who had a life sentence for a double homicide, would become Nard’s worst nightmare. He had it all figured out that Nard would pay his dues to him. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just the prison system that did its own special processing while holding an inmate before allowing them to enter population; some of the inmates had their ways of figuring out who was who before ever meeting them. And unfortunately for Nard, Simon Shuller’s phone call went to Graterford and not Green. It could have happened to anyone, but Nard had nothing to bargain and no one bargaining for him. Possibly, maybe there was something that could have changed fate, but there wasn’t. Inside nobody cared about who you thought you were or what you thought you were doing on the streets. The inside was designed to break you completely down and then build you back up, and very few survived without selling their souls to something or someone.

Nard learned this in less than a month of being in population. He had come inside from the yard, showered, and was back in his cell. Otis smiled kindly, but truth was Otis was nothing but trouble, and usually when people saw him and his crew coming, they went the other way. No one wanted to be a part of trouble. Trouble in prison meant more time. And Otis was notorious for bringing trouble. Otis walked out of the cell without saying a word, but right after he walked out, three men walked in. Set up by his cellmate, Nard tried his best to fight them off. Maybe had the correctional officer assigned to the block called for help or even blown his whistle, maybe just maybe it could have saved Nard. Nard didn’t get in one blow before having the wind knocked out of him with an uppercut to his midsection. Nard fell to the floor, unable to breathe.