Nunzios way, p.5
Nunzio's Way, page 5
“Yeah,” Nunzio nodded. “Why them?”
Chapter Seven: You’re such a romantic
The young, red-haired woman stepped off Pan Am’s brilliant star of the stratosphere, the DC-8 Jet Clipper, after a six-and-a-half-hour flight from London. She walked into the Worldport Terminal at New York’s Idlewild Airport. Inside, the glass walls leaned away from her, giving the uneasy illusion that she was looking out of a plane. The porter who collected her suitcase followed behind as she walked through the terminal and directly to the young man with the sign, “Heather Potter.”
“I’m Heather. You’re not Rico.”
“No, I’m Dominick, Dom. Gimme the bag.”
Heather tipped the porter. To Dom, she said, “Dump the sign.”
“Follow me. The car’s right out here.” Dom stuffed the cardboard with her name on it in the trash can by the door.
Dom threw Heather’s bag on the ’58 Chevy’s backseat, held the passenger door open for her, then climbed in behind the wheel. They followed the evening traffic out of Idlewild.
“Good to see you, Angie. Hey, here’s today’s newspaper in case you wanna catch up.”
“What did you call me?”
“Angie, it’s okay; I knew you and your brothers and Hector from back when —”
“Who else knows my real name?”
“It’s no big deal. We’re the Knights. We’re on your side.”
“Who else?”
“Rico, my brother Derick, and, ah, the other three Knights on the council. But that’s all. It’s cool, doll. Dom is gonna take good care of you.”
“Is this your car, Dom?”
“Ah, actually, no. I lifted it just to pick you up in style.”
“This is stolen?”
“Yeah. You mad?”
“No. It’s exciting.”
“Hey, doll, if you like exciting, how about we park and I’ll—”
“Do you know someplace nice and quiet?”
Dom couldn’t believe his ears. He sat up straight behind the wheel. “The best. My favorite spot is around Central Park off 79th.”
“Let’s see it.”
“On our way.” Dom reached under the seat and took out a large yellow envelope and handed it to Heather. “In there is your New York driver’s license, the key to your apartment in Knickerbocker Village, keys to your car, some cash, a bankbook, Social Security card, blah, blah, blah. Everything you need in your name...I mean in Heather Potter’s name.”
“Thanks.” Heather tossed the envelope on top of her suitcase.
“Ain’t ya gonna check?”
“I trust you, Dom. Tell me everything you know about Nunzio Sabino, Angelo Pastamadeo, and Angelo’s whole family, his mother, his uncles, everything.”
Dom smiled and drove with renewed energy as he regaled her with stories glorifying himself and the Knights. He also shared information about Nunzio, Mac, his family, and Anna and her family. And only afterward, as they drove into Manhattan, asked, “Why do you want to know all this stuff? Mac’s the one that killed your brothers.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Sorry, I just—“
“So, Mac is living at home now.”
“Yeah. And, his crazy brother Johnny has a one-bedroom next door to them.”
“I heard he never goes out,” Heather said.
“He goes out sometimes.”
“Anna’s family?”
“Don’t know much about her parents, except they’re friends with Nunzio.”
“Her brothers?”
“Danny is in the Army. Frank owns a liquor store on Catherine and lives in Knickerbocker. In the same building as you, 10 Monroe Street.” Dom said.
“That’s not all. He used to be a cop, right?”
“Yeah, right after the Army.”
“The Army?”
“Yeah, he doesn’t talk about it, but he has a frame above the counter with his Army medals and patches and shit. Anyway, after the Army, he was a cop for about ten minutes and—”
“Why are we stopping?”
“This is it, doll. My secret spot in the park.”
The Chevy pulled into a secluded space under a large ash tree.
“This is perfect, Dom.”
“How about I put your bag in the trunk? There’s plenty of room on that backseat.”
“Not yet. I’m going to freshen up in the backseat, so you stay right there—and no peeking.”
Heather climbed into the backseat, opened her suitcase, and removed the Beretta .32 caliber pistol. She attached the silencer.
“You gotta hurry up, babe. I’m dying here.”
“That’s funny.”
“Okay, Dom, don’t turn around and do everything I tell you. Lie down on the front seat facing the glove compartment.”
“What? Why? What?”
“Just do it.”
Dom lay down on his right side. “Okay, now what?”
From the backseat, she placed the newspaper on Dom’s head. “Just stay still.”
“Wait, no, no,” Dom started to get up.
She nudged him back down with her Beretta. “Don’t be a big baby, Dom. I like my men strong. Be brave.”
“What? Look, Angie, I mean Heather...We don’t have to do this.”
“Dom, you are such a romantic. I’m going to kill you, and you are going to die, and you make it sound like something we’re doing together; ‘We don’t have to do this.’ How lovely.”
“Shit, why?”
“For practice and to see,” Heather said.
“See what? Wait, please.”
“Shhh. Don’t whine, Dom. Tell me what you hear.”
Dom didn’t hear the thub.
Her hand didn’t shake this time. Again, she felt nothing. Lanzo had killed her mother and stepfather. That’s why she didn’t feel remorse, she told herself. But Dom was a nice guy. Helpful. Even sweet. She wanted to feel something. Some normal reaction. So she killed him to see if she had normal feelings. And for practice. She felt nothing.
Heather wiped anything she might have touched. She tucked the yellow envelope into her suitcase, placed the gun in her right coat pocket, locked the car doors, and threw the keys into the bushes. She walked east along 79th Street in the park. As she neared Fifth Avenue, a sudden movement to her left caught her attention. Two boys pulled her into the dark shadow of several trees. In an instant, she went from startled to intrigued.
“Did you come into the park to play?” the smaller boy asked as he shoved her against a tree. “Look in her suitcase, Tank.”
Now she felt almost amused. These were teenagers…kids. Tank pulled the suitcase from her left hand. “Got it, Dillon.”
Heather looked to the sky. “Are you kidding me?”
“Does this look like we’re kidding?” Dillon pulled out a knife.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” Heather didn’t like knives and removed the Barretta from her pocket.
“That don’t even look real.” Tank said.
Heather smiled. “Maybe it’s not. Come touch it.”
“It’s got a silencer on it.” Dillon grabbed Tank's arm. “Who carries a gun with a silencer?”
“Me.” Heather raised the Barretta. “Now, run or die. I dare you to be brave and not run.”
The boys froze for a brief second, then vanished into the shadows.
Heather slipped the Barretta back into her right pocket, picked up her suitcase, straightened her clothes, and headed on to Fifth Avenue.
As Heather turned right, she heard laughter and loud talking from two couples crossing the Avenue together about a block and a half in front of her. They, one other couple, and a police officer, walked toward her. She spotted a stopped taxi dropping off passengers two blocks ahead. Several other couples chatted on the sidewalk. The police officer said something to them as he passed, and they smiled as they responded.
This was stupid. I need to plan better. What do I tell the cop if he asks how I got here? Where do you live, young lady? Where are you walking from? What’s your name? And then tomorrow, when they find the dead guy in the car, the cop will remember a woman walking along Fifth Avenue with a suitcase. Stupid, stupid. Think.
The police officer was getting closer. The couples were walking behind him, chatting and laughing.
Good Lord, if I shoot the cop, I’ll have to shoot his happy little following. I think the cop just smiled at me. He’s going to want to talk. If I cross the street now, it would be suspicious. What was I thinking? I wasn’t.
Heather and the police officer were now within talking distance.
The officer stopped walking, “Good evening, Miss. May I help you with something?”
“Ah, good evening, Officer.”
One of the men in the happy little following waved to a taxi.
“Oh, no, Jim. It’s such a lovely night. Let’s walk,” said one of the women in the happy following as the taxi pulled up to them and stopped. And then to Heather, she said, “Dear, did you want a taxi?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Marge, it isn’t advisable to walk through the park at this hour,” Jim said.
“Well, I’ll bet this nice officer will walk with us,” Marge said.
“I would be happy to,” the policeman responded.
“Jim, help the girl with her suitcase. You have such lovely red hair, dear.”
“Thank you.”
The taxi driver opened the trunk and Jim put Heather’s suitcase inside.
The police officer held the back door open for Heather. “Are you okay, Miss?”
Yes, Officer, thank you, I’m fine. A bit tired, but okay.” And then, once the taxi pulled away, she said to the driver, “Ten Monroe Street in Knickerbocker Village, please.”
I need a drink.
Chapter Eight: Lilly’s Spirits
Heather walked into her one-bedroom apartment in Knickerbocker Village. Rico had furnished it. Even the bed was made. Dishes, glasses, some food in the fridge and a bottle of wine, but she wanted something stronger. She put her suitcase on the kitchen table and tossed her coat on it.
Who else might have a key?
She tucked her gun under the mattress, left the apartment, and walked along Catherine Street toward the liquor store that Dom told her Frank owned. Just before reaching Lilly’s Spirits, she passed in front of the Weepers club. Two boys sat in chairs tilted back against the wall, a white dog curled between them on the pavement.
“You takin’ a walk all alone, babe?”
Heather stopped. “I’m going to the liquor store.”
“It ain’t safe for a chick to be out all alone in this neighborhood.”
“I’m not alone; I have two tough guys and a dog watching over me. What’s his name?”
“Who?”
“The dog.”
“Sammy. He lives here in the club with us. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“I like dogs.” Heather walked away and into Lilly’s Spirits.
Frank Terenzio was just finishing with a customer, who held the door open for Heather as he left. Three other men sat at a round table. The youngest wore a priest’s collar. All talking stopped when she walked in.
“I’m sorry, am I interrupting—”
“Not at all,” Frank said. “Can I help you?”
“Do you have White Heather Whiskey?”
“I do.” Frank took a bottle of White Heather off a shelf behind the counter and wiped the dust off with a rag. “You’re the first person to buy a bottle of this in a long time. Are you visiting someone?”
“No. I just moved into Knickerbocker.”
“Well, welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Frank; I own this joint. The old guy at the table is my father, Pompeo.”
“Call me Pomp.” Pomp and the other two men stood up.
“The young, good-lookin’ guy is Father Casimiro,” said Frank.
“Please call me Cas.”
“And the other guy is Jokes. He’s hilarious and helps out at the store.”
“I’m Heather. It’s lovely meeting you, gentlemen.”
“Where didcha move from?” Pomp asked.
“London.”
“Well, that explains the White Heather. Is it good?” Frank asked.
“I like it. Maybe because of my name.”
“What building are you living in?” Jokes asked.
“Ten Monroe.”
“That’s my building,” Frank said.
“Yours?” Heather asked.
“No, I mean I live in 10 Monroe, too. We’re neighbors. I have an idea. How about I open this bottle of Heather, and we all toast to you and your arrival in the good old USA. The bottle is on the house. Whadaya say?”
“Brilliant, but I’ll pay for—”
“Not a chance.” Frank opened the bottle, filled five shot glasses, and passed them to the other men, who were now standing at the counter with Frank and Heather. “Father Cas, do the honors.”
“Welcome to your new home, Heather, and may your future here be blessed.”
After they finished, the four men put their glasses upside-down on the counter. Heather wasn’t sure why, but she nodded and did the same.
“That’s an American Army patch.” Heather pointed to the frame above the counter.
“It is,” Frank said. “How do you know that?”
“My husband was an American soldier I met at home.”
“Was?”
“He was in the Korean War and had the same patch. He came home mentally ill.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Pomp said. “Where is he?”
“The short of it is, he was in an Army hospital. He was being transferred to work at a recruiting station here in New York.”
“Probably Whitehall Street,” Frank said. “Sorry, I interrupted you.”
“Whitehall is right,” Heather said. “The London Bank gave me a transfer to its branch on Canal Street and even helped get us an apartment. But a couple of weeks ago, he killed himself.”
“Good God, my dear woman.” Father Cas said. “I am so sorry. How can I help?”
“Oh, no, no, we hadn’t seen each other for over a year, and even then, he didn’t know who I was. So it is not as terrible for me as it sounds. But too late to cancel my work transfer, so here I am.”
Father Cas handed her a card with his phone number. “Call if you need anything.”
“I’m sorry,” Heather said. “This is a happy occasion meeting you lovely gentlemen. The eagle patch brought back fresh memories.”
“Lots of guys came back pretty rattled, as they do from every war,” Pomp said.
“Anyway, thank you so much. I hope I see you again.”
“You will if you come back, and I hope you do, even if you just need to talk.”
“You okay there, Frankie?” Jokes chuckled.
“I will.” Heather smiled as she headed back to her apartment. Perfect. Flirty Frank is Anna’s brother. It will be easy to play him. Maybe I’ll kill him, so Anna knows what it’s like to lose a brother.
Chapter Nine: Give Dom a scolding
“I’m coming; I’m coming,” Heather said to the knocking at her door, “Who is it?”
“Rico. It’s Rico. Didn’t Dom tell you I’d check on you today?”
Heather opened her door and invited Rico in. “Jesus, you knock like a cop. It’s only ten in the morning and I have jet lag. I’m having coffee; you want some?”
“Sure. Is Dom here?”
“Dom? The guy who was supposed to be you at the airport? That Dom?” She handed Rico a cup of coffee. “Check with his girlfriend.”
“Who? Which girl?”
“He dropped me off, said he had a date. Didn’t even offer to carry my suitcase up.”
“Well, no one, not even his brother, has heard from him.”
“I’m sure this is all very troubling for you, but I don’t care. What I do care about is you telling people who I am and why I’m here. I thought you understood that. And then you pop into my apartment without even a call. Suppose Frank was here, what would I say? ‘Oh, this is my friend, the leader of Satan’s Knights, just checking on how I’m doing.’”
“Frank who? From the liquor store? Why would he be here?”
“Oh, Lord, do you get my point, or are you as dim as that Dom guy?”
“I get your point. I’ll call next time and say it’s the bank or something. We’ll decide.”
“And, quit telling everyone!”
“I just told my top guys because I needed a little help.”
“Who are they?”
“Dom, his brother, Derick, Domingo, Mike, and Andy. Just my top guys.”
“Christ, and who did they tell? They’d better not act like they know me if they see me taking a walk or something.”
“No. They’re cool. So, why would Frank be here?”
“I went to buy liquor from his store last night, and he was very flattering.”
“Did he ask about you? Don’t underestimate him, he’s a pretty sharp guy, a former cop.”
“They bought my bollocks army husband story.”
“They?”
“A young priest, Frank, his father, and some guy named Jokes. “They were terribly sympathetic.”
“Okay, all good.”
“What do you want, besides looking for your friend?”
“Cool. Your blue-and-white ’56 Chevy Bel Air is parked on Market Street across from the A&P. I can walk you over.”
“We don’t know each other, Rico.”
“Yeah, right, sorry. Okay, you need anything, here’s my number. Call anytime.”
Heather enjoyed Rico’s being jealous of Frank, but she needed to own him. “Thank you for all the furniture, car, money, everything. I do appreciate it, Rico.”
“Hey, your husband is paying for all this with a nice bonus for me, right into my account, no questions asked. So, whatever you want, you got it, doll.”
“It’s Heather. And remember, you’ll get a big reward from my husband if I get home safely.”
“You will. I’m just surprised your husband is letting you do this shit.”
“Letting me? No one lets me do anything. I make my own decisions. Phillip loves me and pays the bills. But no one owns me.”
