Beneath the Cracks (43 page)

We had barely stepped inside the door when
the phone started ringing.  "I think I can manage to walk to
the telephone without help," I snapped.  "If you want to be
useful, get my hospital junk from the car."

Johnny waited until he heard me answer the
phone before going back out the door.

"Hello?"

"What's this I hear about you getting
injured on the job, my dear?"

"David."  Suddenly my mood didn't feel
so grumpy.  I would've sworn the clouds outside parted and a
few rays of genuine sunshine lit up the room.  "I wanted to
call, but I just got home from the hospital."

"My goodness!  How seriously were you
injured?  Should I be there?"

I grinned.  Leave it to Darnell to be
stingy with the facts.  "What were you told?"

"That you were injured but would make a full
recovery.  You're starting to scare me, Helen.  Please
tell me that I haven't been the worst friend for failing to show
up.  Surely Commander Darnell would've told me if the injury
was serious."

"I was shot, David."

"Helen!"

"Technically Darnell told the truth. 
I'll be fine in a few weeks.  Good as new.  Johnny said
you were on some big case.  You did what you needed to do, I'm
sure."

"That's partly why I've been trying to get
in touch with you for the past couple of days.  Helen, you're
not going to believe this."

"Oh?"

"It's really quite incredible.  I don't
suppose you were following the news much while you were in the
hospital."

"Not really, no.  It was more of a
watch-the-clock-for-pain-medication thing.  Stop being
dramatic and tell me what happened."  Johnny walked past me
with my bag.  He pointed to the chair by the phone.

Stubbornly, I refused.  David was
starting to explain his case anyway.

"There's a facility outside New York City
that processes garbage.  They use something called
anaerobic digestion
to turn refuse into compost and biogas
which can actually be used as an alternative energy source. 
So last weekend, there was an explosion out at this plant, and
because part of the process results in biogas, which includes
methane, nobody was surprised that it would be a federal issue
right away."

"Makes sense.  How did it land on your
doorstep?"

"After the scene was controlled and the fire
put out, the investigation started.  A gun was found, and
processed.  Still nobody thought it was highly unusual. 
Some businesses have gun permits and so forth.  What raised
the first red flag was that this place was owned by a company
linked to a company used as a front to launder money by an old
friend of ours."

I sat down.  "Marcos?"  Orion
drifted back into the room for a moment before disappearing into
the kitchen. 

"That's right.  So there's a mysterious
gun of unknown origin, at a company linked to Marcos. We started
rubbing our collective chins.  NYPD took the weapon and tried
to perform ballistics testing on it, but the damage from the
explosion and exposure to some sort of chemical compound they use
in the plant rendered the weapon useless.  They took it apart
and examined what they could.  You'll never guess what they
found."

Orion extended one hand with two white pain
pills in it.  In the other was a glass of water. 

"Hang on, David.  Nurse Orion is
demanding that I take my pain pills."  I paused long enough to
lay down the phone and keep my schedule of managing the dull roar
in my shoulder from blazing into an out of control pain-fest. 
"All right.  What did they find?"

"Someone tried to alter the barrel of the
gun by scrubbing it with a wool brush."

"Didn't work?"

"Oh, there's no way to tell for sure if the
weapon could be linked to one specific crime.  But it was a
.22 caliber pistol, Helen.  And you'll never guess…I mean,
what are the odds?"

"The odds of what?"  Pain medication
for five days was clearly fogging my ability to think clearly.

"The ammunition in the clip, what was left
of it, matched the casing found at the murder scene."

"What murder scene?"  Johnny continued
to lurk around, in earshot, but not overtly eavesdropping.

"Rick's.  Helen, we believe we have the
murder weapon.  And you'll never believe this in a million
years.  When Darnell delivered Seleeby and he had his formal
spanking for continuing to harass you, he mentioned some eye
witness he supposedly dug up out of nowhere who allegedly saw you
kill Rick."  David paused and snorted, "As if this guy would
ever
make a credible witness even if we believed him."

I was increasingly aware of Orion's interest
in the conversation.  "What are you saying, David?"

"This alleged witness?  He works for
Marcos.  You'll never guess where he spends a whole lot of
time."

"A waste management facility."

My eyes met Johnny's, and for a second, I
thought I saw a flash of panic.

"Yes.  His name is Eddie Franchetta,
Helen, but his cohorts in the seedy world of organized crime know
him as Eddie
the Confessor
Franchetta.  He's a hit man
for Sully Marcos."

"David, I'm going to have to call you
back."

I hung up the phone and glared at
Orion.  "How dare you?  You son of a bitch; you framed
Marcos for murder, and now you've just made everything a million
times worse!"

Chapter 38

"Listen, old man," Franchetta rasped into
the phone.  "You gotta quit calling.  I got the feds
breathing down my back like crazy right now.  Do you really
want this shit linking back to you?"

He knew the assumption, fostered it greatly
since the first time he'd reached out to have one of these little
discussions with Eddie Franchetta.  It served his purposes
quite well to let the man believe that Wendell Eriksson was
manipulating his every move from behind the impenetrable walls of
Attica Correctional Facility.  He counted on it, capitalized
on the fear that a simple name could instill in a man like
Franchetta, who arguably didn't fear a whole hell of a lot.

Still, if he were to end up in say Attica,
with a belief that Wendell wielded great power and influence,
Franchetta had reason to believe that every guard in the place
would look the other way should someone seek a little revenge for
past sins of the Marcos family.

"It doesn't matter to me one way or the
other, Eddie.  I'm in for life.  New York state doesn't
execute inmates anymore...well, not legally."

"Shit," Franchetta muttered.  "What do
you want now?"

Thin lips stretched over teeth that weren't
quite as white and healthy as they used to be.  "You told me
that the gun in question was destroyed, left in little pieces over
a twenty mile stretch of the Potomac River."

"Yeah, and that's what happened.  I
swear to fuckin' God, Eriksson, I didn't take that weapon.  I
didn't stash it anywhere.  Somebody set us up."

"Hmm, so you say."

"Why the hell do you care?  The bitch
–"

"Ah-ah," the voice carried more than a
subtle warning.  "Choose your words wisely, Eddie.  Even
your master is counting on Helen as his trump card if all this
plays out in the courts."

"He can't..."

The old man chuckled.  "Yes, he can,
and he will.  There is so much you don't know, so much you
couldn't possibly understand even if I did tell you
everything."

"Then why are we talking?  Sounds like
you're ten steps ahead of all of us."

"Perhaps, but you still have value to
me.  Have you spoken to the FBI yet?"

"Fuck no!  Hell, man, didn't you hear
me say they're breathing down my back?  I'm holed up in a shit
hole in Jersey City that not even Sully knows about.  I got no
intention of lettin' them catch me."

"But you can't get to the money, can
you?  And even if you could, Sully would know in a second who
really embezzled that twenty million from him if you suddenly fell
off the face of the Earth."

"You think I don't know that?" Franchetta
hissed.

"But you talked to the FBI, Eddie.  I
know you did."

Franchetta hissed smoke through his teeth
and tossed his cigarette onto the filthy sidewalk in front of the
run down store in the bowels of the slum he now called home. 
"Jesus," he muttered.  "Exactly how well are you connected,
Eriksson?"

"You don't want the answer to that
question.  Tell me the truth.  Did you, or did you not
tell Special Agent Mark Seleeby the truth about what you witnessed
last June when Rick Hamilton was murdered?"

"I had no choice man.  He –"

"He figured out who really took Sully's
money, offered you a deal that would let you keep it so long as you
turned on Sully, and on Helen.  Am I correct?"

Franchetta felt the molecules of moisture
pop on his forehead.  They aggregated quickly and trickled
into his left eye.

"Silence shall be considered agreement,
Eddie.  Consequences for lies, however –"

"Alright, alright," he rasped. 
"Seleeby said they'd do a deal, get me into Wit Sec, but I had to
testify to every hit Sully ever ordered, that I had to give details
where the bodies are buried so to speak, but that I'd get nothing
unless I implicated your daughter."

"Is that all?"

"Yeah, man, I swear, that's all of it."

"Who specifically did you speak to with the
FBI, and did they get all of this on tape?"

"No tape, I made sure," Franchetta
said.  "I met with Seleeby and some other suit I never saw
before."

"FBI?"

"So they said."

"And you're certain you weren't
recorded?"

"I'm dead ass positive," Franchetta
said.  "But if you're in this to look out for your kid, I
gotta be honest.  Seleeby almost acted like they were more
interested in nailin' Eriksson than they were Sully.  Maybe
they got a thing about dirty agents.  How the hell should I
know, man?"

It was precisely the information he
needed.  Letting Franchetta know that, would be a mistake of
epic proportion.  "You might've made an attempt to let me know
this sooner, Eddie."

"What for?  Word on the street is that
Seleeby is out of the investigation all together now."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," he muttered.  "Some do-gooder,
Soule or some such, is picking up where Seleeby left off."

"Of course you plan to stay out of their
reach, yes?"

"Do I look like a fuckin' idiot to you?"

"I'll presume that was rhetorical."

"I got no death wish.  You think I
don't know what happens to me if I go down for any of this
shit?  I won't end up in some cushy state joint like you."

He nearly snorted at the notion that Attica
was cushy, or the idea that Wendell Eriksson was powerful or well
liked, but as long it served his purpose to let the misperception
stand, he'd capitalize on it.

"I get charged by the feds and they
will
stick a needle in my arm.  You feel me, old
man?  So pardon my French, but I'm way past giving a fuck
about anybody else in this thing.  The feds get their hands on
me, and I'll sing for any deal I can to get me on the right side of
this shit."

The thin smile made its reappearance. 
Good.  Definitely good.  Franchetta was receptive to what
must happen next.  "Do try to stay out of their clutches,
Eddie.  If you thought it made Sully nervous to hear that
Hamilton was scooped up, imagine how he'd react knowing they had
you in custody."

"Christ," he hissed. 

"Precisely."

"What the fuck am I supposed to do?  I
can't hide from the feds forever."

"Don't presume that Agent Seleeby didn't
manage to record your statement in one manner or another when you
spoke to him – without what he agreed to offer you in return for
your testimony of course."

"I'll recant.  I'll say Sully ordered
the hit, that it was one of the other guys he uses, anything."

The old man's ears perked with
interest.  "Sully ordered it?  Is that plausible?"

"
Anything's
plausible.  I could
tell 'em I made the whole thing up, that I wasn't there, that I
wasn't involved at all."

"Or, you could confess to killing Hamilton
yourself in return for immunity for your testimony against Sully
Marcos – leave that embezzled twenty million completely out of the
equation.  After all, it's a small enough sum for a man like
Marcos.  I imagine he lost more in that explosion at his waste
facility."

"You must think I'm some kinda moron,
Eriksson.  I know what you want outta this.  You wanna
protect your daughter.  The way I see it, if she hadn't
interfered, Sully'd be completely in the clear.  We'd have
handled Rick our way, he'd have gone on believing Rick was the one
who took the money, the feds wouldn't have a fuckin' leg to stand
on where prosecuting Sully is concerned, and life would be
good.  I say hang the whole thing on the bitch."

"No, no.  Helen did Sully a favor, and
you know he wasn't nearly as upset over the death of Rick Hamilton
as he was the lost opportunity to recover his money.  Think
about this, man.  What you want to do is implicate Sully, stay
out of prison or the grave, and still keep your money.  Helen
isn't going to interfere with your ability to do all three
things.  She simply wanted her association with an ex-husband
to stop interfering with her professional life."

"How do I...shit. 
Shit
! 
There's no way out now."

"How long do you think you can continue to
hide from the bureau?"

"Hours?  I dunno.  They're the
fuckin' FBI, man.  You tell me.  How long is it possible
when they smell my blood in the water?"

"Try to hold out as long as you can, and in
the interim, I'll try to devise some plausible way to achieve your
goals without implicating...well, you know who I'd rather be left
out of all of this."