Lloyd Corricelli - Ronan Marino 01 - Two Redheads & a Dead Blonde (16 page)

“Well, I hit him twice.”

“Good, the bastard probably deserved it. Did you get what you wanted?”

I handed him the paper and he looked it over.

“I recognize two of these names,” he said. “Simon Forester is a judge; works out of the Lawrence courthouse. He’s been on the news a couple of times.”

“A fine city for a fine judge, no doubt,” I replied.

“Huh?”

“I was being facetious.”

“I don’t smell anything.”

That was Tony pretending to be stupid again. He knew what the word meant.

“Who’s the second?” I asked.

“James Fontini, asshole Chief of Police in Medford.”

“Shit.”

“You know him?”

“If it’s the same guy, his kid and I were roommates for a year in college.”

“You think he’s the type of guy to pay for a whore?”

“Could you maybe not call her a whore?” I asked.

“Sorry, an escort.”

“I don’t know him that well. I remember his wife wasn’t that bad looking. This was over fifteen years ago.”

“She could have hit the wall.”

“Many do.”

“Unlike us men, who get better looking with age.”

“Some of us.”

“Ah,
vaffunculo
.”

I was well aware of where his weaknesses lay and his looks were a touchy subject.

“So, you liked hitting that guy, didn’t you?” He asked.

“Perhaps.”

I did and it bothered me some. I’d interviewed thousands of people and had never had to resort to violence. Punching Dicky was so much easier than getting a search warrant or subpoena like I had to do in my previous profession.

“Maybe you should be a part of our crew. We’d be an unbeatable team and the best part of all, just think of all the tail we’d get working together.”

I waved him off, he knew I wasn’t interested in being a made man. Besides the fact that I didn’t need the money, I’d prefer not to know about the things he and Uncle Sal did in the back room of the hardware store.

“It’s not my thing, Tony, you know that.”

He ignored me and moved on to another subject, his favorite one.

“Speaking of tail, did you see the broad in the green dress and the fur?”

“Couldn’t miss her.”

“I’d love to show her a good time.”

“If you’ve got a couple grand to burn, I’m sure she’d do you.”

“Hey fuck that, I don’t pay for no pussy.”

“Because your pimp hand is strong?”

“Damn straight.”

On the way back to Tony’s place, we stopped at Kelly’s to grab some lunch. He put away two large roast beef sandwiches to my one, leaving no crumbs anywhere within five feet. I kept my hands away from his side of the table fearing for my fingers.

I parked out in front of the condo and left the engine running.

“You wanna’’ come up? I’ll give Nicole a call and have her bring some friends over.”

“You’re determined to get me laid.”

“Someone’s gotta take care of you, cuz.”

Tony was such a good sharer but I wasn’t in the mood for debauchery. I had work to do.

“I’m going to have to pass today, but maybe some other time.”

“That’s okay. I probably should go do some fucking work anyway.”

“People to see, legs to break.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

We shook hands and he pulled me over into a hug. I groaned.

“Fuck, sorry. The ribs, right?”

“Yeah. Between you and Uncle Sal, they’ll never heal.”

“You give me a call when you want some more help. This was pretty easy stuff.”

“It’s only going to get harder from here.”

“You think that bothers me?”

“Never said it did.”

“Well, whatever you need, you just call. That includes Marc too, even though he’s on the other side.”

“So am I.”

“Not anymore. Today you’ve taken the first steps toward the dark side, young Skywalker,” he laughed at his own joke. “I love that shit.”

Tony paraphrasing Star Wars in his thick Boston accent was worth any bear hug. He stepped out of the Jeep and shut the door. He motioned for me to roll down the window.

“Before the first snowfall, I’m going to have you knee-deep in poon.”

Persistent bastard.

NINE

The
first thing I wanted to do was find out who the Dodge Charger was registered to. I could have Shea run it, but he’d want me to come in and look through those mug shots and I wasn’t convinced we’d find out who the thugs were that way and it was very low on my list of priorities. Another option was to call one of my old OSI buddies but they’d start asking too many questions and I wasn’t ready to give answers. I’d have to get Marc to do it for me.

I headed up Route 93 and cut over on 495 toward Westford. When I turned on the radio, it was still on Tony’s disco station. I changed it to classic rock and it was the Doors, Hendrix and the Stones the rest of the way.

The Westford police station is located in the town center right across from the small common. Like many local towns, they were very proud of their Revolutionary War history and had a couple of cannons decorating the park. It was funny how an area so anti-gun could be so fond of cannons and statues of Minutemen with muskets.

The parking lot was relatively empty and I slid into a spot next to a white, late model BMW. It wasn’t atypical to see a Beemer in this town.

The station is part of the town hall complex that also included the main fire station and town offices. Though very modern, it was built to look like it had been there since colonial times with a large spire topped with a glass belfry on the main building. I’m sure the belfry must have served some purpose beyond its obvious visual appeal, but as of yet I hadn’t figured out what.

I went into the small waiting area and asked for my brother. The town fathers had built Marc a wonderfully modern station, but he always complained that it was too small and cramped. He seemed to believe his station should be the size of Lowell’s even though his crime rate was a mere fraction of theirs. It was obvious station envy.

Five minutes passed. He must have been with some town high-roller talking about a serious problem like the width of parking spaces at the library. I waited a few more minutes and he came out with a surprise, Diane Dunn.

She was wearing a tan business suit, heels and a white shirt opened to reveal a hint of cleavage. Her perfume wafted through the air sending a jolt of electricity down my spine.

“Hey, Ronan, what brings you this way?” Marc asked.

“I was just in the neighborhood.”

“You remember Diane?”

She smiled and shook my hand.

“Of course,” I said.

“Nice to see you again,” she said and made me believe it. “I was just talking to your brother about attending a fundraiser for Congressman LaValle.”

“Isn’t the election only about three weeks away?”

“One can never have enough campaign funds for the final push. Maybe you’d like to attend?”

“I uh, probably have something planned that night. As a matter of fact, I think I have to wash my hair.”

Marc rolled his eyes.

“You don’t care for Congressman LaValle?” she asked, flickering her big green eyes at me like a Southern belle in heat.

“Am I that transparent? Men like him made my military life a lot harder than it had to be.”

“I’m sorry, but maybe if you got involved and spoke with him he’d have a better understanding of the issues.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said knowing I had no intentions of doing so.

“I wish you’d honestly consider it. I need a date.”

She turned and walked out and both my brother and I watched her go. After she was gone, he crossed his arms and glared at me.

“For why?”

I knew exactly what he meant without him saying it.

“Just doing my part to expose the vast left-wing conspiracy.”

“Whatever, Ronan. What’s up?”

I handed him the napkin with Red and Goatee’s plate.

“Run that for me.”

“Anyone I might know?”

“The guys who jumped me.”

“You saw them?”

“Yeah, they were leaving the escort service.”

“Escort service? What the hell have you been doing?”

“Remember the card I said I found at Karen’s?”

“She worked as a hooker? Did you know?”

“I prefer escort and of course not.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. How’d you find out?”

“A little bird told me.” Turnabout is fair play.

“Fine, I don’t really want to know.”

“By the way before I forget, Tony sends his regards.”

“You’re hanging around with him?”

I just shrugged. Our cousin’s profession deeply bothered my brother.

“You didn’t let him hurt anyone, did you?”

“No, of course not.”

If he only knew, he’d be really upset at who was doing all the hurting.

“Good, good. Okay, let me go run this and see what we come up with.”

“I’m going to head home. Give me a ring on my cell phone when you get it.”

“I’ll call you in five.”

I went out to the parking lot, and there leaning on the white BMW with her arms crossed was Diane.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t be long,” she said.

“Waiting to extol the virtues of socialism to me?”

“You’ve got me all wrong, Ronan.”

“I do? Well golly, Miss Diane, I be so sorry.”

She cocked her head at me and frowned. “That was so un-PC.”

“I never claimed to be PC. You probably don’t run into many guys like me.”

“Not since they took the statue of Neanderthal man out of the Museum of Science. It was scaring all the little kids.”

Were we just insulting each other or bonding? I couldn’t tell.

“You’re funny,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh. I never knew you people could have a sense of humor,” I said.

“I have a great sense of humor, tough guy.”

“Everyone thinks they’re funny. Most aren’t.”

She slapped my shoulder flirtatiously. I had thoughts of setting her up with Tony. That would be worth hours of non-stop chuckles.

She said, “But,
I
am funny and I want to prove it to you.”

“Doing standup at a club?”

“No, wiseass. But since I think you’d be too uncomfortable at the fundraiser, we could have dinner Saturday night instead.”

It had been a long time since a woman asked me out, and never one that looked like her.

“You mean like a date?”

“Yes. Truthfully, you intrigue me. I wouldn’t wait around here for just any man.”

“What about the campaign? Isn’t there someone you should be shaking down for donations Saturday night?”

“Don’t you ever stop?”

“I’m like the Energizer Bunny of sarcasm; I just keep going and going.”

“I like the sound of that,” she said in a sexy voice. “Pick me up at seven.”

She handed me another business card, this one with her home address and phone handwritten on the back, jumped in her car and zoomed away with a little wave. I never got the chance to say “no.” There seemed to be some good chemistry between us, but I wasn’t so sure I was ready to go out on a date just yet. I still hadn’t found Karen’s killer and dinner with Diane might become a distraction to my task at hand. I would have had to be gay though, not to give it serious consideration.

Twenty minutes later, as I was on my way home, my phone rang.

“Sorry it took so long, but the system is working slow today. They’re working on the fiber optics in town,” Marc said.

“What did you find out?”

“The plate came back classified.”

There was silence on the line. We both knew what that meant without saying it. It looked like my two pals were cops just as I had suspected.

“You want me to try and find out who they work for?” he asked.

“No, but they’ll be notified that you ran their plate so expect a phone call.”

“Then we’ll know who they are; or at least what agency.”

I had a queasy feeling in my gut. My instincts looked to be right again. Dirty cops were not something to be taken lightly. I tried to harness those same instincts to tell me whether I should continue this or back off and not risk ending up in a shallow grave.

Instincts though don’t work like a Magic Eight-Ball. You can’t just shake them up and get answers like “
it is certain
.” They only work when they felt like working. One thing I was certain of without the benefit of instincts or a Magic Eight-Ball; I’d be spending a lot of time with Tony in the foreseeable future.