Dirty Deeds (7 page)

“Did you watch
Goodfellas
again?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

I sighed. “It was on last Saturday but I only watched the last hour. Ninety minutes tops. It has nothing to do with my paranoia. You know what does? A dead guy in a trunk who supposedly wanted me dead.”

“Why do you keep saying supposedly?”

“I’m not sure. Practicing for a future court appearance, I guess. Regardless, I’ll take a cab. At least I’ll know if I die it won’t be from an assassin. It will be from the smell and bad driving,” I said.

This address couldn’t be right. I turned back to the cab driver and motioned for him to roll down the window, asking if this was the address I gave him.

He shrugged and double-checked his GPS against the address I’d given him, finally giving me the thumbs up without another word. He rolled the window back up and I looked at the closed jazz club in front of me.

I guess I was expecting another crack house like all the others I’d attempted to visit today. No one knew Will Black so far, but ninety-nine percent of the people I’d talked to had no idea what their own name was at the moment.

When I knocked on the door I wasn’t surprised to wait and find no one nice enough to answer it. I checked my phone for the time.

I remember the old days when I wore a watch or else I’d have no idea what time it was. Sure, restaurants and banks and businesses might have a clock in view for the customers but just walking down the street? You needed a nice watch. I had seven or eight expensive Rolexes in my homes I never took out of the drawer anymore. I wasn’t the kind of guy to flash the jewelry and it only invited thugs in places like this.

The club itself was smashed between two other buildings and I’d have to walk all the way around a city block to see if there was a back door or parking lot. Frankly, I was tired and lazy at this point. I wasn’t going to find out anything, anyway. Marisa had mentioned Will was a musician and I guessed he was allowed to flop in this joint around gigs.

I took a few steps towards the cab when I got an eerie feeling. I turned quickly and scanned the building, and sure enough, someone was watching me from a third floor window.

It was a brief glimpse of someone with long, stringy hair and missing their teeth. Maybe a guy in his thirties? It was hard to say.

I renewed my quest to get inside, banging on the door over and over until my hand hurt.

“I know you’re home. Open the door. I’m not the cops. I’m looking for a friend,” I yelled.

When I stepped back and looked up a thin curtain moved but the toothless guy didn’t appear again. I didn’t know what to do.

Kicking in the door to a club was only going to get me arrested, and I had too much to do this week. Marisa bailing me out of jail wouldn’t be too hard but it would set me back and put my face back on Keane’s radar. He’d also figure out another alias of mine if I wasn’t careful.

Standing on the sidewalk, staring at the building, wasn’t helping. It wasn’t getting me inside, either. I could forget my Montreal plans and stick around until tonight when the club might be open, but then it would set my next job back and I didn’t know how much time I had.

I got back into the cab and told the driver to take me back to my hotel. I’d be back in a few days to deal with this wrinkle in my plans.

I had the distinct feeling this Montreal visit was going to be a bust. I knew from my Canadian resources the FBI had already paid a visit to Little Chenzo’s parents home. I knew it was Keane and he knew what I knew, but I wondered if now the world knew.

Had the parents already rolled over and told the FBI they’d illegally adopted the kid all those years ago? If they’d kept anything other than the bogus paperwork it could eventually get traced right back to me.

I also needed to get back to New York so I could get into the club and ask a few questions before an overlarge bouncer tossed me out into the alley.

An older man with white hair greeted me at the door with squinty eyes. He held the door open a crack and didn’t say a word.

“Mister Black?”

After way too long he nodded but remained silent.

“I’m with the government,” I said. I liked to be as vague as possible until they asked some questions. Then I could take out one of the fake badges I had hidden in my jacket.

He continued to stare without a sound.

“Do you speak English?” I asked.

He understood because he looked annoyed. “What do you want? You aren’t from my government. You Americans have no jurisdiction in Canada, yet you keep coming to my door.”

“I’m really sorry for bothering you. I just have a couple of follow-up questions to ask about your son, Will,” I said, trying to sound official and solemn and try to get the guy to relax.

It wasn’t working.

“I have nothing more to say,” Mister Black said. “Good day.”

He had a thick French Canadian accent and I wondered if Will had had one before he died. I’m not sure why it even mattered, but knowing he was born into a Jersey Italian family made it seem surreal.

“If I can just come in and ask a few simple questions. Please,” I said.

“Like I told the FBI agent yesterday, until you find my son I’m not interested in talking to anyone else,” he said.

Had Keane been here already? Gotten ahead of me? Damn. I was doing too much and this should’ve been my priority. While I was wasting time in New York City he had caught the first flight out of Boston and headed to Canada. I know it was Keane. Actually, at this point, I hoped it was. If it was someone associated with Chenzo we were all in trouble.

More than likely, Keane had spilled the beans about their dead son but I figured I’d give it a shot myself and see what I could shake out of the tree.

“I have some bad news,” I said. I dipped my head slightly. He hadn’t shut the door yet, which I took to be a good sign. I needed to spring this on him so he’d drop his guard and let me in. I had a vision of his wife crying on the couch while Frank comforted her and I could slowly pry as much info as possible from the elder couple.

“What news now?” Frank asked.

“I’m afraid your son, Will, washed up on a Massachusetts beach a couple of days ago.”

He didn’t look shocked and he didn’t cry, or scream or do much of anything other than stare at me. I figured Keane had told them the news but maybe he didn’t give them all of the details and I was going to string it along as far as I could at this point.

“Unless you finally did find Will, I think you are mistaken,” he said.

“We did. He washed up,” I said.

Frank shook his head and smirked. “You’re as stupid as the American police officers who called us yesterday. My wife flew down to Boston to claim his body. Guess what? It wasn’t him. Not our son, although I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was the way he lives his life.”

Now it was my turn to be in shock. “There’s been a mistake.”

“No mistake on our part. My wife is on her way home now. No one is going to reimburse us for the money we had to pay for a short flight, either. I have a right mind to sue everyone. You understand what I’m saying? Hundreds it cost for the ticket and hotel and food,” Frank said.

I took out my wallet and slipped five hundred dollar bills from it, holding them up.

Frank’s eyes got wide.

“Let me in. Give me fifteen minutes of your time. I really need to ask you some questions. Please,” I said.

Frank stepped aside and I could see the wheels turning in his head. I’m not a cynical man, but everyone had their price. I sometimes wondered in times like this if I could’ve gotten my foot in the door with a crisp fifty. I had no time to waste, though. Usually on jobs I could spread it out, enjoy the planning and look at it from all angles.

This wasn’t a job. This was covering up a job that got away from me from my past. I wondered how many others would someday bite me.

Before I could sit on his worn couch I was talking, taking in the dull furniture and fading pictures on the walls.

“I thought I heard you say it wasn’t Will,” I said.

“William,” Frank said defensively. He was jittery, his hands moving in his lap.

I put up a hand. “I’m not the cops. Not the FBI.”

Frank started to rise from his chair. “Then get out of my house.”

“I was the man who got you Will when he was just a baby,” I said. I knew I was breaking my own rules but I felt the press of time on my shoulders right now. Dancing around the issue and hoping this guy understood was not an option today. Too much at stake, like my life and livelihood.

“I don’t understand. We adopted from Saint Mark’s.”

I shook my head. “I’m going to tell you something that can never be repeated, even to your wife. This information is so sensitive because it is dangerous. I need you to nod your head and tell me you get it,” I said. I was playing a dangerous game and I knew it.

Frank nodded his head.

“Your son was part of a Mob hit. A very important person. High-ranking mobster. But he wasn’t killed, obviously. He was rescued and hidden away. Given to a nice family in Montreal named Black. Never told where he came from or who he really was. Only. . . maybe the bad guys have figured out who he was. When the body washed ashore I thought it was Will. William. But now you’re telling me it wasn’t him?”

Frank nodded. I could see the old man was on the verge of tears. His hands had stopped moving.

“My wife verified it wasn’t William. Not our son, although she said it looked like him. Whoever it was even had his old Army jacket on with the pins,” Frank said.

“It was definitely his jacket?”

“Yes. She noticed the rip on the sleeve and he had all these patches sewn onto it and pins from these horribly named musical groups he liked, even as a small child.” Frank put his head down. “He was so angry, even before his teen angst years. So physically violent.”

“You sent him away?” I asked gently.

Frank’s head snapped up and there was anger in his eyes. “We threw him out. At twelve. Tossed him into the street like garbage. We never got help for William. We just gave up on the boy.”

I stared at Frank because I had no follow-up question or comment. I was trying to process this information and see if it was relevant to anything. When Marisa had told me they abandoned the kid I thought she was cutting to the chase. I assumed counseling and individual therapy, maybe family counseling, had been done. All avenues exhausted. Will ran away at twelve and his parents wept for the boy each and every night.

The Black family had let a child walk away, one they’d sworn to protect. They’d adopted the kid from what was usually a bad situation. Foster care. The system. Birth parents who didn’t want them. Abandonment issues.

I wanted to punch this old man in the face.

“That was it?” I asked.

Frank nodded and reached under the chair cushion, pulling out a flask. He offered me a sip but I declined. He took such a large pull I figured half of the flask was now empty.

“Did you see Will in the last few years?”

Frank wiped his mouth and smacked his lips. He was a drunk and an alcoholic. Maybe Will getting away from this guy was a good thing, although based on the stories I’d heard so far about Will’s life, it was six of one and half a dozen of the other. I liked that expression.

“My wife ran into him at the Port Authority once, about two years ago. She was on her way to meet her sister for lunch. She said he looked like death warmed over. Slumped against the wall with nothing but a sleeping bag filled with junk. A tin can for tips. He was playing his guitar for change. Probably for drugs and alcohol,” Frank said.

I declined pointing at the flask in his hand and let him continue.

“When he saw my wife, you know what he did?” Frank asked.

I wanted to say spit on her but I just stared.

“He spit on her. Can you believe it?”

I stood. “Yes. I can. You and your wife threw out a kid who’d already been thrown out. You abandoned a twelve year old little boy with anger issues. Instead of getting Will help you. . . you’re a horrible person, and so is your damn wife.” I was livid and my hands were shaking in anger.

I wasn’t a violent man, per se, but this guy was pushing all the right buttons. In case you hadn’t already guessed, I took protecting children very seriously. My job was to take them from an abysmal situation and put them with loving, caring people. I did this at great risk. Sure, the money was amazing but I’d do it for free if I knew it would help a kid.

The Black family had taken damaged goods and further crushed it. William Black had been dealt the worst hand ever, and I felt sorry for the kid. What chance did he have? I know the bleeding heart Liberals will moan about how bad this kid had it, and for once I agreed.

“Get out of my house,” Frank said and tried to stand.

I moved two steps forward and chopped him in the throat without a thought. I’m not a violent person, I told myself as I cocked my fist back.

“I’m going to ask you a few more questions and then I’ll leave. You’ll answer them truthfully and the five hundred is yours. I’ll add another hundred to keep your mouth shut. Got it? I wasn’t here. Do we have a deal?” I kept my fist ready to strike. I was actually hoping he’d say something stupid or curse at me so I could unload and beat him to within an inch of his life.

I’m really not a violent person, but I can be pushed like anyone else.

Frank sat down and finished off what little was left in his flask, rubbing his throat.

“Do you have anything left of his?”

Frank shook his head.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone you got rid of him like a sack of garbage?”

Frank sighed. When he spoke his voice cracked and he was in obvious pain from the throat chop, which made me happy.

“We were still collecting from the state. We needed the money but not the problem,” Frank said.

“You sicken me,” I said. I knew it was cliché but it fit.

Frank glared. “William tried to set the house on fire during one of his meth binges. He built a lab in the garage at ten. At ten. The kid was a menace and couldn’t be controlled. He was glad to leave and so were we.”