Momma Lupe, Book 1 in the Ty Connell 'Novella Series. A Mystery/Suspense Thriller. Cooking or killing -- Momma Had Her Funny WAys (5 page)

"Ty, is there a point in there
somewheres?"

"Yeah. Two points. Point one is, from her
kitchen she can see anyone approaching her place from five blocks
away. Point two is that, if she's running her business from her
kitchen, and her kitchen has that big picture window, and the
window faces a corner and a long side street, we could maybe get a
truck parked along the street far enough down not to alarm her. We
could get a parabolic mike on that glass."

Morgan sat back. "I
like
the sounds of
that.
Now
maybe
we're gettin' somewhere. But we need a warrant and a budget to put
a sound truck and a team on it."

"I'll leave paperwork to you, bro,” Connell
said. “See Nolan about a tap warrant. Meanwhile, I got another
angle I can work. I’ll let you know how that one goes."

"Okay, man. Let’s do it."

What had
occurred to Connell was that, since Momma’s primary activity was
importing
and booking girls in strip clubs
all around New England, that there had to be a girl or two out
there who had been abused, cheated, or otherwise wronged by her. Or
by one of the lunatic sons, or one of Momma’s other hired goons.
Maybe a girl who might know inside things about Ma's business and
be willing to talk about it.

He just had to find one.

And he knew just the guy.

Paul Geddes was a small-time
dealer/user and a creature of the late night world of seedy bars,
sleazy nightclubs and stipclubs, and all night donut shops. He was
a junkie who would sell his mom for a twenty-dollar hit. A true
bottom feeder. Every time Connell had met with him he was wearing
the same greasy old buckskin jacket and greasy blue jeans that
smelled like neither they —nor Paul— had been near a washing for
years. And probably hadn’t. The guy had body odor and bad breath
that could knock you back a few feet just by saying
hello
. He was short,
stocky, and had teeth so yellow they looked like corn kernels. A
true denizen of the netherworld.

But he could get access to information no one
else could.

And, as far as intel went, he'd tell you
anything, or find out anything —for a price. And he frequented the
north end biker club scene to boot, so he'd be well familiar with
Ma's operation.

Connell just had to find him. Last time he'd
seen Geddes, the guy was sitting in a run-down little donut shop on
Bennington, the main thoroughfare in the north end and where
Connell had just been the day before on his tour of north-end pool
halls. Also a known hangout for heroin addicts.

Connell made the drive and, sure enough, he
spotted Geddes in almost exactly the same spot he'd last seen him
two years before. Parked at the same small round window-side table,
dressed in the same greasy buckskin jacket, greasy blue jeans,
stained black T-shirt, and snakeskin cowboy boots with
silver-tipped toes. And he still had that reptilian quality about
him. His skin shiny with dirt and grime. Scaly, like a lizard.

He was holding court with several other
candidates for Citizen of the Year who wandered off quickly when
Connell stepped in and pulled a chair around.

"Hey, my man," Geddes said, a bit surprised
and a bit wary to see Connell again. He gripped Connell’s thumb in
a musician's handshake. Even the handshake was smarmy. There was
nothing musical about Paul.

They traded small talk for a few minutes,
then Connell said, "Paul, I'm gonna need a little information."

"Yeah, well. We all got our needs, don't we?"
Geddes said, and he cast a sideways glance at Connell, assessing
how much urgency Connell might have on this particular
occasion.

Geddes's mind didn't run to
what the information might be. That was immaterial. He’d give
up
anything
that
didn’t get him killed. It ran only to how much that info might
fetch. And for Geddes, every dollar translated strictly into cc's
of heroin: his lifeline. He knew, from working with Connell before,
that Connell worked some sort of undercover detail that had access
to cash for info. So he knew how it worked and what to expect. It
all just came down to bargaining.

Connell said, "This could be a nice payday
for you, Paul. Something like last time. Depending what you bring
me."

He could see that Geddes was interested. Was
still much in the game and on the needle.

"Can you define
'nice'
?" Geddes
said.

"I gotta check. Maybe up to five grand.”

“
Up
to
leaves a lot of wiggle room.”

“First, I just wanted to see if you
were still in town, still in business, and still interested in the
occasional freelance assignment."

"Well, you found my office," Geddes said.
"And I'm still open for business."

"Okay. I found you. Let me see where I can
take it. I'll get back to you."

Connell rose and Geddes made a little
shooting motion with his finger and thumb as he left.

Connell hooked up the next day with Morgan.

"Okay, John. So, I ran down an old source,"
he said. "This is a guy who can find out whatever we need to know
about Momma."

"That's good, man. I also got a solid gold
warrant for the tap on her window. We just be picking up public air
waves, like a little old Momma Lupe radio station."

Connell had to smile at the radio station
imagery. "I also put in a req form with the Fink guys. My guy’s a
known IC in my file already. It’s a formality. I just got to make a
call to pick up payment."

The Fink Fund was what working officers
called the three-man internal division that handled pay-off monies,
both from hotline tips from the public and CI and IC sources from
guys like Connell. Officially it was called SIPCO. The Secure
Informant Payment Clearing Office and the amounts doled out could
range from fifty dollars for minor phone tips, up to many thousands
for major intel on lengthy and successful investigations.

“Okay, man,” Morgan said. “You want to make
that call?”

Connell made the call. “We’re good,” he said
when he hung up.

"Let's go find your dude."

They
swung by the Fink Fund offices in a downtown tower, double-parking
out front
while Connell ran in to sign for
the cash. He brought back a small canvas banker’s cash bag stuffed
with small bills.

On the drive to Geddes's "office," Connell
filled Morgan in on exactly who they were going to be facing.

"John, I guarantee you're
not going to like this cat. But just let me do the talking. Don't
do or say
anything
.
You’ll just spook him."

"Okay, little brother. You in charge. I just
wonder where you find the rocks to look under for some of these
guys?"

"Don't worry. The guy's good. Last time he
cost us ten grand on that biker round-up, but it was well worth
it."

Morgan whistled lowly. "Man, that's a lot of
bread for a lowlife."

"Not to a lowlife on junk. Besides,
the operation ran three months and we confiscated vehicles and
property worth half a million at auction."

They found Geddes at the same table at the
donut shop.

But this time Geddes was not the relaxed
laid-back person he had been when Connell spoke with him just
twenty-four hours before. And Connell knew why. When they’d last
met, Geddes had been on the fix, and all was mellow in his world.
This time he was on the hunt and wild-eyed. He probably hadn't had
a hit that day.

Connell introduced John but Geddes avoided
looking at him. He avoided eye contact of any kind. And he was
tense and edgy.

"You taping this?" Geddes asked, his eyes
darting around, glancing inside and outside the shop.

Connell said, "Paul,
you
know
I'm
wearing a wire. If I'm going to advance you major bucks, I gotta
have my back covered. We’ve been through this before. Just don’t
mumble and speak clearly."

John cast a nervous glance Connell’s way and
Connell could see that the big guy was not sold on Geddes, or on
the whole situation. But Connell knew how to manage guys like
Geddes. He slipped the canvas bag out of his jacket and onto his
lap, out of sight of other eyes in the shop. But Geddes's eyes
widened and he got that dire craving look that junkies get and that
Connell knew so well.

"Hey, man," Geddes said, "Can you do me a
little advance before we start?"

That was why Connell had brought out the
bag.

"No problem, Paul, how much you need?"

Geddes's eyes darted around
the room again as he calculated how much he might be able to tap
Connell for. He was in no position to be greedy, but he
clearly
needed
a
hit.

"How about a hundred?" he asked, his eyes
locked on Connell’s.

Connell hesitated for a moment, to let the
tension build a little, then he pulled out a hundred dollars in
twenties. He held onto them for another moment, letting Geddes
squirm a bit more, build up his motivation to cooperate, then
handed them under the table. Geddes took the money and rose
quickly.

"I'll be back in five," he said.

As Geddes was disappearing out the door,
Morgan was shaking his head.

"Man! You really think that smackhead's going
to come back? After you just laid enough on him to get high all
night?"

"He'll be back,” Connell said. “I work with
these guys all the time. And he'll be settled down when he does. I
couldn’t work with him the way he was. He was too edgy. Eyes
darting all over the place. It was going to fall apart. Believe me,
he wants the other forty-nine hundred more than he wants to run
with that C-note."

Geddes did return. In less than fifteen
minutes. And he was exactly as Connell had said he would be:
settled, calm, focused, and ready to deal.

"So, my man, what'd you want to know?" Geddes
asked, the transformation quite remarkable.

Connell knew that Geddes had
gone around the corner to an even smaller, grittier, little all
night eatery, made a buy, had gone into the filthy washroom there,
took out the spoon he always carried, and warmed the powder to a
golden fluid with his lighter. He then fixed himself up while
seated on the toilet. Junk hits almost immediately —a warm
all-enveloping body glow that addicts
need
to normalize. By the time Geddes
got back to the table, all was right in his world again.

"Momma Lupe," Connell said, simply, when the
guy was seated.

For a couple of long moments Geddes said
nothing. He just stared at them both.

Finally, he said, "You
expect
me
to tell
you
anything
about
Momma? Man, that’s one place we never been before and I didn’t know
that was on the table.”

But Connell had thought it through. He knew
that a guy like Geddes couldn't afford to rat out someone as highly
placed as Momma. He’d rat out his mother or other family, but never
someone like Momma. That is, not if he wanted to continue to live
anywhere near Boston. Anywhere in the northeast, for that
matter.

Connell remained calm. He spoke in a
reassuring tone.

"No, Paul, I don't expect
you to do that. This is going to be the easiest most risk-free five
grand you'll ever make. And for it I want just two things. One, I
want to know if she ordered the hit on Vinnie Momesso downtown. For
that I don’t need details. Just get me an answer. Two, I want a
name.
One
name.
Of
one
girl who's
inside Ma's setup. Or Was. Someone who knows the whole picture from
the inside and is willing to talk. Someone with a grudge to settle
with Ma."

"Momma's a connected lady,"
Geddes says. "Not a lot of people speak out about her around here.
It could be bad for your health, messing with her. She
really
is
crazy,
you know."

"So I’ve heard," Connell said and tucked the
envelope back into his pocket.

Geddes watched closely as he did so.

"What'd she ever do to you guys?" Geddes
asked. “And why do you guys give a shit about Vinnie? Even the mob
guys don’t care that he got it.”

"Let's just say,” Connell said. “We've got a
special incentive in this case."

"A
de
-partmental Christmas bonus?" Geddes
said and smiled a yellowish-brown smile.

"Something like that."

He could see Geddes thinking
it over. Informing in
any
way on
any
thing to do with Momma was risky.
But, still, five grand—

Connell leaned in close. "Paul, you don't
even have to exert yourself for this one. Just come up with one
name."

Geddes thought about it for a moment.

"There might be a few people
she's fucked over, but I can't guarantee they'll talk to
you
. As for the hit on
Vinnie, I might be able to find out about that."

Connell suspected that Geddes already knew
the truth about Vinnie, but he wasn’t the kind to give away
information for free when he could collect on it.

"Tell you what I'm gonna do," Connell said,
and he slid out the canvas bag again. He pulled out another hundred
dollars, which he shoved into Geddes's T-shirt pocket. "I'm gonna
give you another hundred dollars down payment right now towards
that five grand. You call me when you get an answer and a name, and
we'll do more business."