Murder Takes Time (15 page)

I heard the footsteps approaching, then felt the hands on my shoulders, lifting me from him.

“Stand aside,” somebody said. They checked him out, then scooped Mick onto a stretcher. Before they got to the ambulance, the one checking him was shaking his head.

When I turned to look behind me, two cops were there. One had his gun drawn. “Hands behind your back,” he said. The other one cuffed me before I said a word.

On my way to the station, I cried.
The Mick is dead. Who’s gonna tell his mom?

CHAPTER 21

CONFINEMENT

I
t was Sunday, the day after the fight, and they still had me locked up. I told the cops I wasn’t talking until I got a lawyer, then I used my one call. By the time Mamma Rosa showed up, they had all but convicted me. Three of the Woodside guys had been hauled in, but they weren’t talking. I shot one dead and the other guy took a shot to the arm. I told them what happened. It would have gone better if I had just shot the guy who got Mick, because the other guy had no gun.

Rosa cried. Angie did, too, when she got there. I told her not to worry, and before she left, I gave her a pack of matches. “Put these in Mick’s casket.” She looked at me funny. “He’ll understand.”

Mick had stolen enough lighters to open up a store, but he was always asking people for a light. Now he’d have one if he needed it.

W
ITHIN A FEW WEEKS,
they processed me and sent me to trial, and then the judge for sentencing. When the gavel slammed down, seven years came with it. I almost shit.

Seven years.

My public defender mouthpiece grabbed my arm, but I shook him off. “Seven years? Jesus Christ. They started it.”

The gavel hit again. The judge added thirty days for contempt.

“Shut up or you’ll get more,” the lawyer whispered to me.

I struggled, but I managed to keep my mouth shut. Angie ran to me, crying, but the bailiff held her back. Mamma Rosa, too. I was allowed a quick hug before they took me away.

“See you soon,” I said, with more than a little pleading hanging on each word.

A
T FIRST, THE WORST
thing about prison was missing Mick’s funeral. After a while, that was a distant worry. I found out quickly that the cops sent word ahead of me that my nickname was “The Rat.” First thing I learned in prison was that the guys didn’t stop to ask how you got the name; they just kicked your ass. I could have killed Doggs for giving me that name. It cost me three days in the prison hospital.

Fortunately I never got back-doored. They were going to do it once, but I was saved by Teddy ‘The Tank’ Moresco. He was Whale’s brother, and he was as big as Patsy. With Tank’s protection, the beatings stopped. I ended up with a nasty scar above my right eye, but that was a small price to pay.

After the next few weeks, I reflected on what were the worst things. I didn’t mind the clothes or the shoes. Didn’t even mind the isolation. Hell, I’d lived with Pops all my life and he wasn’t much of a conversationalist. What I did miss, though, was the food. This was the worst food I’d ever eaten in my life, even worse than Mick’s house. I winced as I thought it.

Mick. Dead now.
The thought made me more serious than ever to do my time and get out. It made me look at things differently, too, and once I’d done that, I soon grew used to my new surroundings. I even came close to forgiving Tony for what he’d done that night at Woodside, leaving the Mick like he did.

The prison was about fifty miles from home. Not so far when driving, but Rosa had never bothered to get a license, forcing her to rely on Tony, who always seemed to be too busy with one thing or another to bring her to visit me. Despite that, she managed to get there twice in the first two months, using a combination of buses and favors called in from friends. I begged her to stay home. Her legs were getting older than she was, so even walking to the bus stop was too much.

“Just write,” I told her, but she wouldn’t hear of it.

“As long as I can put one foot in front of the other, I’ll be here.” She said it with such conviction that it made me realize Rosa could do anything she wanted. It pissed me off even more that Tony didn’t bring her.

Angie managed to catch a ride with some friends a few times. Her problem was more with her dad. If he found out she’d been to see me, it would have meant serious punishment. He didn’t like me before I went to jail, and now I was a pariah. Tony and Suit came twice, both times bringing Bugs and Chinski, but they didn’t like coming; I could tell. And they only stayed long enough to make it official. After the visits stopped, they said they’d write. At first, I didn’t open the letters.

I was pissed that my friends didn’t come personally, but after a month of no visitors, each of those letters became little treasures, each word a hidden gem. Soon, even the letters stopped.

Everything was changing. Seemed like what happened to Mick and me affected all of them. Tony planned on moving to New York. Doggs hooked him up with some people, and he was taking Suit with him. Bugs got a girl pregnant and asked her to marry him. Said he was going to move, maybe go to college. I said a silent prayer for Bugs, knowing how he dreaded the thought of marriage.

My biggest surprise came near the end of the third month. It was a particularly tough day, and they told me I had a visitor. I was surprised because it was late, and when I walked into the visitor room, my heart jumped.

“Angie.” I couldn’t run, but I walked as fast as the guards allowed. “God, it’s good to see you.”

She hugged me. We kissed, then I just stared. “I can’t believe you’re here. Who brought you?”

“Tony. He’s waiting for me, but he said I can’t stay long.”

“He didn’t come in?”

She shook her head. “He’s running some important errand for Doggs and said he has to hurry. He’s picking me up in twenty minutes.”

“I can’t believe he didn’t come in. Isn’t he going to New York soon?”

Angie got that look on her face, the one that told me not to worry about little things. “You know what an ass he’s been.”

“Still doing drugs?”

She nodded. “Dealing them too.”

I couldn’t believe it—Tony dealing. But Angie was right. I had no time to worry about it. “Twenty minutes is fine. Even two minutes is okay.” We talked about everything. She caught me up on all the news I didn’t know, then we just stared at each other. I could see the pain on her face and in her eyes. I thought about the years that were left. What kind of life it would be for her to wait for me. Suddenly her pain became real.

Angie started twirling her hair around one finger, and I felt her pain growing. It was that, more than anything, that made my decision. “You should stop coming.”

She started to object, but I stopped her. “This isn’t right. I got five, six more years, even if they let me out early. You can’t wait.” I stared into those huge brown eyes. “I won’t
let
you wait.”

She stood, kissed me on the lips. “You go to hell, Nicky Fusco. I’ll do what I want.” With that, she walked out.

A
NGIE LEFT THE PRISON
more depressed than when she went in. It was bad enough to come all this way, but to see Nicky like that… She wished there was something she could do to make his time easier. As she paced the sidewalk, waiting for Tony to pick her up, she thought about what he said. She looked at her watch, checking. It was already dark and, not surprisingly, Tony was late. Ten minutes later, the sound of screeching tires alerted her. She jumped back just as Tony came to an abrupt halt at the curb. Two guys Angie didn’t know were in the car with Tony, one in the front and one in the back. Angie took one look at Tony and knew he was messed up. “You don’t need to be driving, Tony.” She didn’t intend to, but she probably put too much of Mamma Rosa in her admonishment.

“Just get in.”

“If
you’re
driving, I’ll find another way home.”

“This is bullshit,” he said, but he got out, told the guy in the back to drive, then opened the back door and climbed in beside Angie.

She looked at him through squinted eyes. “Have you been doing drugs?”

“Shut up, Angie. For once, just shut the fuck up. You sound like my mother.”

Angie smacked him. “Don’t talk to me that way. Your mother—”

He grabbed her wrist and glared. “Yeah, well, my mother isn’t here to protect you. Neither is Nicky.”

Tony continued drinking and snorting cocaine as they drove. Angie had never seen him this bad. “Let me off at the next light. I’ll get a ride home.”

“And tell my mother how bad I treated you? No thanks.”

Angie crossed her arms, riding in silence but keeping a keen eye on the road. Something didn’t feel right. She didn’t know the other two guys, and Tony was completely out of it. When they stopped at a traffic light, she tried to get out.

Tony yanked her back in. She struggled, smacking him, but he hit her and pulled hard on her arm.

“Stop it. You’re hurting me.”

He pulled her close and pressed his lips to her mouth. “Why don’t you give me some of what Nicky’s been getting?”

Angie punched him in the side of the head, repeatedly. She used her legs to shove against him and kick. Tony hit her hard, three times in the side of the head, pressing her down onto the seat. She fought, but couldn’t stop him from spreading her arms out. Then he punched her twice in the side.

While she fought for breath, gasping, he ripped her pants off, spreading her legs at the same time. She screamed for help from the two in the front seat, but they ignored her.

“Tony, don’t you dare!” she cried. “Don’t you goddamn dare.” He was too far gone to listen. He kept it up until he was done, then moved to the other side of the car, straightening his clothes. “You say anything about this, and I’ll kill you. Got that?”

Angie pulled her pants up, slid all the way against the door and hugged herself. She didn’t cry. She wouldn’t give him that pleasure. She didn’t say a word until they got to her house.

As she got out of the car, Tony pointed a finger at her. “Remember what I said.”

She leaned forward, narrowed her eyes. “You remember this night, Tony Sannullo. One day you’ll pay for it.”

Angie cried most of the night. She cried during each of the four baths she took; cried while she scrubbed the sins of Tony Sannullo from her body; and then cried more while she lay in bed wishing she were dead. When that failed to make her feel better, she decided to write to Nicky and tell him what happened.

Dear Nicky:

I hate to bring you news like this, but something terrible happened. When I came to see you last…

Angie wrote for an hour, crumpled up three letters, and pressed so hard with the pen on two more that she had to throw them away. After two more attempts, she got up, paced, imagined what Nicky would do when he read it. She wanted him to kill Tony. But she knew that wouldn’t happen. So what
would
happen? What could he do?

She tiptoed to the bathroom so she didn’t wake her father, then locked the door. Avoiding the mirror had been difficult when she took her four baths. Now, she purposefully stared into it. She was bruised by her ear, but she could cover that up by doing her hair differently. The last thing she wanted was her father seeing it. Her lower lip had been cut, and her side hurt bad from where Tony punched her. But that was nothing. The cuts, bruises, the aches—they would all disappear in days. What Tony did to her would not. She thought about his threat to kill her and scoffed; what he had done was far worse.

But the question remained—if she told Nicky, what could
he
do?

He could get angry, go crazy, hate the world, maybe take it out on a prisoner who looked at him the wrong way. He could do a lot of things, but nothing would help her, and worse, it would hurt him. She decided not to make Nicky suffer with her. Telling him would be giving him a death sentence.

She looked at the mirror again. An angry, bitter person stared back at her. She tried telling herself to be strong, but it didn’t do any good. She wondered how she would get through the night, let alone the next day, and the endless ones that followed.

Angie brushed her teeth, combed her hair, unlocked the door, went to her room, and tore up the last version of the letter. She would not tell Nicky, or Mamma Rosa, or anyone else about this. She would have to trust in God to help her get through it. With the decision made, she folded her hands and prayed.

CHAPTER 22