Family Matters

FAMILY MATTERS

Tony McFadden

Copyright © 2011 Tony McFadden

Smashwords Edition

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For Linda, Amy and Charles. Thanks for everything

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people or events is entirely coincidental.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The solitude of writing is counter-balanced by the valuable support and assistance given by my beta-readers, Caroline Gerardo, Ron D. Voigts and Alan Lavender. Thanks for your input. It helped form the final product.

Prologue

Three Weeks Ago

‘Gentlemen, I want to thank you for gracing me with your presence.’ Rico Trattori sat at the head of a table in a private room at La Loggia on Flagler. At the far end of the table sat an extremely dapper Vladimir Petrovski. To Rico’s left, Tony Montana, scowling into a mug of beer. And to his right, the typically taciturn Ivan Smimov. Between their chairs sat various thugs, armed security for their bosses.

‘You have tremendous balls inviting us all to a restaurant across from the courthouse.’ Vlad smiled as he rolled the ash off his cigar. ‘But this food,’ he waved at the remains on the table, ‘is delightful. Why are we here?’

Rico sat back in his chair, his considerable weight stressing the workmanship to its limit. ‘The economy is not, as you are all aware, in the greatest of shape. And while we are all in ostensibly recession-proof areas of business - ’

Tony had his hand up.

‘Yes?’

‘Os - , os - , what?’

‘Ostensibly. It means, to all outward appearances. Or, as far as anyone else could tell from the outside. May I finish?’

Tony nodded, waved his hand to continue, and pulled at his beer.

‘Thanks. Where was I?’ Rico dabbed a piece of garlic bread in the tomato sauce on his plate. ‘While we are all in ostensibly recession-proof areas of business, things have been tough for each of us.’

Ivan belched. ‘Speak for yourself.’

‘Really? I can read the papers. You’re under considerable pressure from the Feds. Maybe not you personally, but I know the names of your men, and they’re quite popular across the street. Gambling receipts are off. People don’t have the money they used to. For Christ’s sake, they’re walking away from their houses.’

Rico paused, took a sip of wine and nodded at Tony. ‘How’s the ice business?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s been better, I guess, but not totally in the shitter. What are you getting at? I don’t like talking about my private business around these guys.’

Ivan grunted. ‘I am wanting to agree with the crazy Mexican. I disagree with Vladimir, though. This food is not so good.’ He pushed himself back from the table. ‘I am wasting my times here. I will leave now.’

‘Wait a couple more minutes while I explain my proposal. I think you might just like it. It will benefit all of us.’

Ivan scowled. ‘I do not think so, but I will listen. Do not waste any more of my time though.’

Rico nodded. ‘I’ll get right to the point. The four of us all operate in non-competing areas, both geographically and in our primary areas of business.’

Tony held up his hand.

‘Just listen and save the questions. I think you’ll get the gist of it. For example, starting with me first. I’m based in Tamiami. I handle everything west of 874. I control most of the gambling and prostitution. I wholesale drugs, but don’t deal; that’s for you, Vlad. And if anyone wants guns, they go to Homestead.’

Tony smiled. ‘That’s me.’

Rico nodded. ‘You own the south. If somebody wants guns of any description or quantity, you are the man.’

Tony grinned, spaghetti sauce staining his thin beard, gold tooth glinting in the light.

‘And the primary source of meth in South Florida, also you.’

Tony saluted him with a crust of bread.

Rico continued. ‘Ivan, Hialeah and area is yours. The races, cocaine, heroin, even the really good pot comes from you. Your compatriot, Vladimir, further north in Opa-Locka, is doing some very creative things with money-laundering for each of us for a substantial, but fair, fee.’

‘Wasting my time, still. We all know what each other does. I am to leaving now.’ Ivan rose to his feet and pulled his jacket off the back of his chair.

‘What if I were to suggest we combine our operations, an even share for each, and form a conglomerate? We operate as equal partners, cover the entire region, combining our expertise.’

There was a brief silence, then all spoke at once. Rico let it roll for a minute before ringing his spoon against his wine glass. ‘One at a time, please. I want an open discussion.’

‘And why should we even be discussing this with you, an upstart in this business?’ Vlad smoothed his tie and sucked smoke out of his cigar. ‘You’ve been here less than five years.’

‘Let’s just say I’m progressive. We would be large enough to muscle out some of the more established organizations in South Florida, take over their operations, grow to be the dominant force in Florida.’

‘Even shares for each of us?’

‘Yes, Tony. Twenty-five percent each.’

‘But I know for a fact that my meth and my guns bring in a helluva lot more green than your businesses, and I’ve been growing my business for over ten years. Almost fifteen actually. Don’t seem that fair.’

Vlad nodded. ‘I agree. I propose, if we go forward with this - and that’s still a very big if - that the ownership is a fair division based on current business sizes.’

Rico tossed the crust of bread on his plate. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. And how about we get Price Waterhouse Coopers to audit our books. Brilliant fucking idea, boys. No, we can’t have a dominant partner in this. It needs to be a four-way partnership or it won’t work.’

‘Then it is not going to be working, and I will still leave now.’ Ivan nodded to his muscle and made his way to the door of the private room. ‘Oh and Rico, if you come sniffing in my house for a scrap or two, I will personally carve you up like a Christmas ham. Dasvidaniya.’ He and his three bodyguards left, the rest of the room in silence until they were gone.

‘This isn’t going so well for you.’ Tony looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got a helluva long way to go tonight, so I’m outta here. Stupid plan. Admire the cajones, but it’ll never work.’

Vlad watched Rico’s face as Rico watched Tony leave. ‘You still think you can amalgamate our organizations. You don’t look disappointed. You expected them to turn you down. What about me?’

‘They are two of the biggest idiots I’ve ever run across. They rule with fear and intimidation. Replacing them with someone as ruthless, but sympathetic to my plans, would not be very difficult. You, on the other hand, are too smart for that. I expected you to stay.’

‘So you think I’ll go along with this plan.’ It wasn’t a question.

‘With the right incentives, yes.’

Vlad shook his head. ‘I’m not convinced. I do thank you for the excellent meal, though. I haven’t been here before, what with the proximity to the courthouse. I’ll have to come back someday.’ He stood and dropped his napkin on his plate. ‘Be careful. I think you may have made a couple of enemies tonight. You will regret that, I think.’

Chapter One

‘Impressive damage. The front is almost as bad as the back.’ Dr. Samantha Reese, Miami’s Chief Coroner, fitted a pair of latex gloves and gently lifted the head of the facedown victim. ‘Rigor is starting to set in.’ She held the head for the detective to see. Halogen floodlights cast a bluish-white glare over the scene, giving the face an even more ashen look than death offered. Someone or something had broken the victim’s nose, folding it over on the right cheekbone. From the detective’s visual examination it appeared that both cheekbones were shattered, as were the orbital bones of the right eye. Bone, hair and gritty material mixed in a bloody mess in a jagged cavity on the back of the victim’s skull.

‘The nose pointing that way looks extremely uncomfortable. Good thing for him he’s dead.’ Detective Dan MacCready, lanky, balding and sweating, scribbled notes in his pad. ‘Looks violent. Probably personal. That kind of damage would indicate a fair bit of rage, wouldn’t you say?’

Sam shrugged. ‘Possible. Not easy to say. Something’s strange about this.’ She signaled to the crime scene photographer. ‘Roger, you finished here?’

‘With the body, yeah. Still shooting on the periphery. Move it if you want.’

‘Thanks.’ She waved Dan over. ‘Help me flip him over. Where’s Cruz, by the way?’

Dan wiped his brow with his sleeve. ‘Detective Cruz is still not allowed in the field. Desk duty until the incident report is finalized, probably later in the week.’ He squatted by the body. ‘Which means the lucky little shit went home almost six hours ago to his lovely, pregnant wife for a lovely family meal.’ He looked at the victim. ‘I need gloves.’

Sam tossed him a pair. ‘Desk duty for the Stilson case?’

MacCready shook his head. ‘Don’t wanna talk about that cluster-fuck, okay? No, Cruz shot a punk in a ski-mask coming out of a liquor store. Running out, actually. He should have yelled Freeze or Police or something first, but he was right. And he was smart enough to shoot him in the knee. The perp was guilty as sin, but Cruz still has to go through the review. The bureaucracy gets worse every year. I’m getting fed up with it. I just want to do my job but I’m drowning in paperwork.’ He snapped on the gloves. ‘Which way are we flipping him?’

He helped the medical examiner carefully turn the corpse on its back.

Sam leaned over the face. ‘The right eyeball is crushed. He was hit hard. The left though, like I said, something strange.’

‘Strange like what?’

‘Like the pupil is completely dilated. There’s no iris.’

‘So someone drugged him and bashed him on the head.’

Sam shook her head. ‘I’m not going to speculate. I want him on the table and a ton of tox screens run before I make any determination.’

Dan shrugged. ‘I can wait. Do you have a time of death?’

Sam pierced the skin of the lower abdomen and checked the liver temperature. ‘It’s going to be difficult to pinpoint precisely.’ She nodded at the body, in a polo shirt and shorts, dark socks and expensive running shoes. ‘It looks like he’s been jogging, which increases the rate of cooling. I have to balance that against the extremely warm temperatures tonight. I estimate somewhere between two and four hours ago, so between 8:00 and 10:00 tonight. Rigor is setting in, so closer to 8:00 than 10:00. And Dan, it’s a real rough estimate, okay?’

He chewed the inside of his cheek. ‘Who found him?’

‘Homeless guy.’ She pointed to a squad car near the entrance of the alley. ‘A uniform is talking with him now.’

‘Any identification on the vic?’

Sam handed him an evidence bag containing a wallet. ‘It’s in there.’

He opened the bag and retrieved the wallet. ‘Cash, credit card, frequent shopper card, drivers license in the name of Barry Ott. Who killed you, Mr. Ott? Someone you know, or was this a random mugging?’

Sam stood and motioned for the body to be bagged. ‘Not random. I don’t think so anyway. And with all that still in the wallet, not a mugging. He’s going in the cooler until tomorrow. I’m exhausted. It’s almost midnight. I’ll let you know tomorrow what I find, okay?’

‘Sure.’ He handed back the evidence bag. ‘I’m keeping the driver’s license tonight. I’ll make a copy tomorrow.’

‘Don’t lose it.’

‘I’m not a rookie. Catch you later.’ He wandered over to the squad car, pulling the notebook from his back pocket as he walked. ‘Constable Bale is it? Detective MacCready, homicide. I understand you have a person of interest here.’

The cop wrinkled his nose and pointed through the open door into the back seat. ‘Take him. I’m going to need to fumigate the car after this. He called it in from the payphone on the corner.’

‘Name of the guy?’

‘Mumbly McMumbles. No clue. Guy sounds and smells like he’s sucking on week-old sweat socks. If you could get him out of the car, that would be fuckin’ great.’

Dan smiled. He squatted in front of the open door. A middle-aged man, larger than the typical homeless person and with at least a week’s growth of stubble on his sagging face sat slumped in the back seat, fiddling with his fingers and mumbling something to himself.

‘Excuse me sir. I’m Detective MacCready, Miami-Dade Police Department. Can I ask you a few questions?’

The guy snapped his eyes open and swiveled in the seat. ‘I didn’t kill nobody. Ya can’t prove I did because I didn’t and I don’t care what they say they’re lying because I didn’t do it.’ Spittle coated the corners of his mouth. He paused for a minute, then a smile slowly broke across his face. ‘You don’t recognize me, do ya copper?’

MacCready sighed and stood, leaning on the hood of the car. ‘What the hell are you doing, Shute?’

Eamonn Shute, a large Irishman, levered himself out of the car. ‘What a coincidence that you’d catch this case. How ya been, Danny-boy?’

‘What the hell, Shute? You lose all your money? Why are you out at almost midnight looking like you’re sleeping in a dumpster?’

Eamonn leaned against the squad car. ‘I guess my disguise is pretty good, eh? So what’s up, detective?’

‘What do you have to do with this? What do you know?’

‘Probably not much more than you. There’s been a rash of old-folk muggings. Were you aware of that?’

MacCready clenched his jaw. ‘What in the hell are you talking about? You called the police from the pay-phone on the corner when you found the victim, didn’t you?’

‘Bang on, mate.’ Eamonn Shute rubbed the whiskers on his chin with the back of his hand. ‘Those muggings I mentioned? Well it seems to me like someone is systematically targeting rich oldies. I thought I’d have a bit of look up close, seeing as your colleagues in the robbery department didn’t seem to be making any headway. It’s been going on for almost two months.’

‘Always sticking your nose in. Figure anything out?’

‘You’re homicide, detective. Forget about me. You need to find whoever killed the poor sot in the alley.’

‘So how did you find him?’

Eamonn rubbed his nose. ‘Been slumming for a couple of weeks now, quartering the city and poking around. I just happened to be in this neighborhood tonight. Walked into this alley and there he was.’

‘Just lying there? See anybody else around?’

Eamonn shook his head. ‘Just him. Heard footsteps running out the other end of the alley.’ He looked down at his ample gut. ‘Not like me to run after anyone, so he went on his own.’ He held his hand up to forestall an imminent comment from the detective. ‘Do some real investigation, Dan. Don’t rush to judgment, okay? That didn’t work out so well on your last case.’

‘Fuck off, Shute. I should hold you as a material witness.’

Eamonn chuckled. ‘Remember my lawyer, Cooper? I’ll have him gnaw on your leg until you let me go.’ He doffed an imaginary hat. ‘You know where to find me, detective. I need to get back on the beat.’ He winked and wandered into the night.

MacCready snorted and slid his notebook into his back pocket. ‘What an asshole.’ He made his way back to the scene of the crime. Sam directed the collection of the victim. ‘The guy’s an asshole. Thought I was done with him. My fucking luck.’

Sam removed her latex gloves and tossed them in a portable disposables bin. ‘Who?’

‘Guess who discovered the body?’ He didn’t wait for a response. ‘Eamonn fucking Shute.’

‘The Stilson case?’

‘One and the same. Smug, fat fuck rubbed it in, too. Wish I could hold him as a suspect, but he’ll have an alibi.’

She slid her examination kit in the back of her car. ‘I didn’t have that much interaction with him. Seemed okay to me.’ She closed the door. ‘So what’s next?’

‘You find a weapon?’

‘The Crime Scene Techs bagged a brick they found near the body with a healthy layer of skin, bone, hair and brain matter. Seems pretty conclusive.’

‘You think you can get prints off a brick?’

Sam smiled. ‘Not my problem. It’s the crime lab’s problem. But Gloria’s good. If there’s a print, she can pull it. I’m betting she’s more interested in the DNA, though. I think there’s some trace from the perp on it. Like he didn’t wear gloves. Fingers crossed.’

MacCready looked at his watch. ‘Okay. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow. I’m going to canvas. Wake up some of the local citizens and ruin their night. Tell Gloria to send a few of her techs to the Ott guy’s place of residence. Take some uniforms with them.’

--==O==--

Anthony let the phone ring to voicemail and pressed the end button, the same exercise he’d done five times so far in the past hour. He looked around the table. ‘I don’t like this, guys. He’s supposed to be in contact all the time. Anybody else hear from him since this morning?’

Anthony Fat Toes Scirocco held court in the back room of one of the premier strip clubs in Hoboken. He looked at each of his lieutenants in turn. ‘Well? Anybody?’ He splashed a couple of fingers of whisky in his glass. ‘Luigi is my wife’s sister’s son. He’s a bit of a putz, but he’s fucking family. She’s worried about him, and when she’s worried I get abso-fucking-lutely no peace.’ He wiped sweat from his bald head. The radiator was cranked to 80 degrees, fighting to keep the icy cold wind at bay. ‘Is it just me or are the winters getting worse? Fucking hell.’

A hard and shaved bald kid near the back of the room stood. ‘Anthony. Can I speak?’

‘Quit being a dick. Just talk already. Have you heard from Luigi?’

‘You know him and I are like brothers. He’s been sending back pictures of babes in bikinis on the beach every fucking day. Almost every hour. The last I heard from him was a bit after 3:00 this afternoon.’ He looked at his watch. ‘That would be about 9 hours ago. It’s not normal not to hear from him for that long.’

Anthony sighed. ‘He’s been down there three weeks and every night he calls his mother. Tonight, nothing and she’s losing her shit. You tried calling him?’

‘It’s off. I’ve filled his message bank.’ Paulie hesitated, shrugged, then went for it. ‘I say I head down there and find out what the fuck’s going on.’

‘Right. And work on your tan.’

‘Hey, this guy has been my closest friend since we both got in trouble trashing Old Man Gerry’s Packard when we were in Grade Four. I’m hurt. Even if he was shit-faced, Luigi would call his mother, and send me a picture of the stripper giving him a lap dance. Something smells. I’m going to drive down there first thing in the morning. I’ll give you updates - you personally - twice a day.’

Anthony closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘I can’t fucking believe it. I’m agreeing to send one punk to Florida to babysit another punk.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Crack of dawn. And you’re not driving. It’ll take you a couple of days and I don’t have that kind of time. Fly. I’ll have someone meet you in Miami with a car and some hardware.’

‘But - ’

‘Fuck off. You’re not taking your Camero, I don’t care how much you’re in love with it. We don’t have the time. Now all of you guys fuck off. I need to get some work done.’

--==O==--

Dan woke four different families, none of them pleased, leaving a handful of kids wide awake. He wasn’t making any new friends. He knocked and waited and was turning away from the fifth door when it opened on the security chain. ‘Who is it?’

‘Ma’am, I didn’t think anyone was home.’ He held his badge to the gap at the door. ‘Detective Daniel MacCready, ma’am. Can I come in and ask you a few questions?’

‘May I.’

‘Excuse me? May you what?’

‘May I come in. You said can I come in. It’s may I come in, got it?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ He waited.

‘Well, young man?’

‘Well?’

‘Ask properly, or stay out in the hall.’ She slammed the door shut.

Dan cursed under his breath and knocked on the door again. ‘Excuse me ma’am, may I come in and ask you some questions?’ He shook his head. The wonderful people he met on the job.

A number of seconds passed before he heard the chain removed from the safety catch. The door swung open to a short, squat woman, in her late-fifties or early sixties, butch haircut, too-tight bike shorts and a Three Wolf Moon t-shirt. She stood in the doorway, looking him up and down with a scowl on her lined, leathery face. ‘What can I do you for, Detective?’

‘Can we sit?’ Dan looked around the small apartment, tidy, but not clean, smelling strongly of re-heated tinned spaghetti.

She pulled out a chair and sat at the table. ‘So, sit. Cigarette?’ She held out a pack of Pall Malls.

Dan sat. ‘No, thanks. What’s your name, ma’am?’

She lit a cigarette, took a drag, and placed it in the ashtray. ‘Roberta Wills. Call me Bobby. What’s this about?’

Dan placed Barry Ott’s driver’s license on the table between them. ‘Do you recognize this man?’

Bobby squinted at the photo, held the license at arms length, and squinted some more. ‘That’s not workin’ for me, hon. Hang on a sec.’ She retrieved her glasses from the top of the fridge. ‘There we go. I’m getting old, Detective. And my arms are getting shorter. Let’s see that again.’ She held up the license.

‘Recognize him?’

‘Hell yeah. This is Scary Barry. Lives across the way.’

‘Scary Barry? Scary? Really? This guy,’ Dan cocked an eyebrow and pointed at the photo, ‘weighs maybe 160 pounds soaking wet and looks like an overworked accountant. Why’d you call him scary?’

Bobby chuckled a deep smoker’s laugh. ‘It’s not just me, honey, we all did. There’s deadness in his eyes that will give you the chills. I’ve run into him in the store, and at the newsstand. First few times I’d be friendly and nod and smile, try to strike up conversation, and he’d stare at me like he’d like to suck the brains out of my ears and serve it with chocolate sauce and shaved almonds.’ She pulled a lungful of smoke out of the cigarette. ‘Thought it was just me at first, but my neighbor friends said the same thing. Very chilling, it was. Tried to avoid him lately.’ She took another drag and watched Dan write notes in his book. ‘So why you askin’? What’d he do?’

Dan wrote a couple of additional notes in his pad, looked up at her and smiled. ‘He died.’

Bobby coughed. ‘He what?’

‘He died. What were you doing last night between 7:00 and 11:00?’

‘Me? You think I killed him?’

‘Who said anyone killed him? I just said he died.’

Bobby snorted. ‘I’m not a moron. A guy dies and a cop shows up to talk to me, then somebody killed him. And it wasn’t me, I swear.’

Dan smiled. ‘Just eliminating people. So far, you’re the first person I’ve talked to who knows him.’

‘Ah, me and my big mouth. I wouldn’t say I know him.’ She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. ‘Okay. Last night was poker night. I was at my friend Susie’s place from about 6:30 to well past midnight. There were five of us. Well, six, but Becky was cleaned out by 8:00 and went home. Menopausal irregularities I think.’

‘Susie? She have a last name, address, phone number?’

Bobby wrote the details on the back of an envelope and slid it across the table. ‘So it was foul play? Not an accidental death?’

‘Only accidental if he accidentally bashed himself on the back of the head with a brick.’

She puffed again, filling the small apartment with second hand carcinogens. ‘Ah.’

‘So did you see him around much?’

She shrugged. ‘Just like I said, at the shops, or at the newsstand. He didn’t encourage curiosity. I had no desire to be on the receiving end of whatever he was serving. He was truly scary.’

‘What time of day did you see him? Always the same time?’

She frowned in thought. ‘Now that you mentioned it, no. It was any time of the day. I’ve seen him in the morning, noon, early afternoon, late at night. No specific time. Any time.’

‘Any idea what he did for a living?’

She shook her head. ‘Not a clue. Maybe shark impressions, with those eyes. He was always dressed casually though. I never saw him in a suit, and most times he was in shorts and a golf shirt.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Not very fashion conscious at all.’

Dan looked at her outfit.

‘Hey, don’t judge my taste based on what I’m wearing. I’m in the middle of laundry. I was down to this or nude. When you knocked on the door I was in the buff. Be glad I put something on.’

Dan laughed and flipped the notepad closed. ‘Thanks for your time Ms. Wills.’

‘Oh, don’t call me Ms. Like my daddy said, that sounds like a near Miss. Call me Bobby.’

‘Okay then, thanks Bobby. You were a great help.’

He let himself out of the apartment and heard the chain latch behind him. He’d verify her alibi later.

It was 12:30. Dan yawned and slid behind the wheel.

His apartment wasn’t that far away. He was standing at the door by 12:50. The snoring was clearly audible from the outside. ‘Oh, fuck, Simon.’ He unlocked the door, the snoring getting louder as he opened it. ‘You need to get out before I lose my mind.’

Chapter Two

Simon farted and rolled off his brother’s sofa.

Unintentionally.

‘Shit.’ He fought with the sheets and stood, rubbing his eyes. He opened the left one and watched Dan walk into the small kitchen and turn off the coffee machine. ‘Bro, what are you doing up so early?’

Dan looked at his watch and raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s 8:30. I