4:30 AM. Johnny was so beat he was ready to take off his coat and shoes and just tumble into bed, but his wardrobe was so sparce he couldn’t afford even more wrinkles. He hadn’t even taken off his shoes when his phone rang. What the hell? Thought Johnny. He picked it up. The voice on the other end was husky, out of breath,
“Stone,” it was Marvin, Victor’s goon.
“That you Marvin?” “Yeah, Get over here, now.”
“Marvin, it’s 4:30 in the morning.”
“I know what fucking time it is, Stone.”
“You alright Marvin, you sound like shit.”
“Stone, you ain’t here in a half hour, you’re a dead man. Got it?”
Johnny looked at the phone then spoke. “Got it.”
The Brooklyn streets were deserted, and it was freezing. But somehow, like an apparition, a cab appeared. Johnny waved it over. He climbed in, 53nd and Broadway.
“That’s the Blossom club, pal. You’re a little early doncha think?” Said the cabbie.
Christ, a comedian at 5am. Johnny thought. With the city still asleep for the most part, Johnny got out of the cab only twenty minutes later. The place looked closed. No lights. Nothing. Johnny looked around, thinking he should try the back. Just for kicks he tried the front entrance door. To his surprise, it was open. Still, the only light came from the back of the bar. Johnny called out, “Marvin?” No answer. Again. “Victor?” No answer. Johnny was getting a bad feeling about this, a very bad feeling. He made his way slowly toward Victor’s office. He opened the door, the office was dark, he felt around for a light switch, found it.
Victor’s body was slumped on the desk, blood pooled around the glistening oak. One hand stretched out holding a 45 pistol. On the couch across from the desk two of Johnny’s boys lay next to each other, their shoulders leaned together. Both had bullet holes in the center of their heads.
Holy Shit, thought Johnny. He’d seen dead men in the army, but here, in Victor’s well-appointed office, the scene was surreal. He shook himself out of his shock and headed to the phone, to call the cops. He’d just gotten around the desk when he heard footsteps moving fast. He looked down grabbed the gun, which was soaked in blood and pointed it toward the door. All at once all the lights in the house came on, and the door swung open. It was the cops.
A patrolman so big he took almost took up the whole doorway pointed his 38 right back at Johnny.
“Drop the gun!” Johnny froze.
“Now!” Within thirty seconds the room was full of blue.
Johnny dropped the gun. The cops grabbed him spun him around and cuffed him.
The big guy turned to one of the other cops.
“Call this is in, Charley.” He looked around the bloody scene. “Looks like this kid just offed Gaglioni and two of his crew.”
Charley said, “Hey Mick, I know these two.”
Mick answered, “Yeah, they were part of Victors crew.”
Mick turned to Johnny.
“What’s your name son?”
“Johnny. Johnny Stone.”
“You wanna tell me what happened here, Johnny? Might help you in the end.”
“My name’s Johnny Stone.”
Mick smirked. “Yeah, you already told me that.”
“I’m a private eye. Working a case. I got a phone call from Johnny’s boy Marvin telling me to get over here.”
The big man looked at his watch. “At this time of the morning?”
“It’s complicated,” said Johnny.
“Yeah. I bet. Well, Johnny Stone, you’re under arrest.
“For what?”
“For three dead bodies, that’s for what.”
Charley came back, “The Doc and ambulance are on their way.”
“Okay. Get this guy into the squad car.” Mick looked at this watch and, call the captain.”
****
My head spun like an eight-ball curving into the back pocket. My hands were shaking, so I crammed them into my coat pockets; I didn’t want the cop to think I was nervous, which I guess sounds pretty stupid since they were arresting me for murdering three people. There were three of them in the car, two of the patrolmen who found me and a higher up who came as they were taking me into the squad car. His name, was Stewart McNulty and he was one of the best-known cops in Midtown. He was frequently in the tabloids, both for his high-profile arrests as well as being seen at the best watering holes and uptown parties. His pedigree included a very wealthy family, as well as a Harvard education. The press had christened him ‘the hammer’ because he solved complex cases faster than anyone else and “came down like a hammer,” when it came to putting bad guys in jail. The less well-known origin story of that name, handed down in a whisper; that he once took a hammer to a suspect and left his head looking like a busted-up watermelon.
When we got to the station, I was ceremoniously thrown into an interview room. And there I sweated for the next forty-five minutes. Finally, McNulty and another cop came in. McNulty sat down while the other cop stood by the door as if there was any possibility I would try to escape.
“Name?”
I stared.
He looked at me like I was a mental patient.
“Name?”
“Johnny Stone,” I said, thinking of the dance Farentino put me through at the station house in Brooklyn. But McNulty came right to the point.
“Why did you kill those guys, Johnny? What was the beef?”
I tried to sit up straight and not look like a fish pulled out of the river.
“I didn’t kill those guys. They were dead when I got there.” I replied.
“So, why’d you have a 45 in your hand, pointed at the officers when they walked into the office?”
I tried to calm down, tried to keep my voice from shaking.
“I wasn’t pointing the gun at them.”
McNulty chuckled and looked at the cop by the door.
“You sayin’ Jimmy here is a liar?”
I looked at Jimmy, young, with a flushed red face, ready to clean up the city and send killers like me to the electric chair.
“No. But I had the gun in my hand when I heard footsteps. I didn’t know who was coming, but I was pretty sure they weren’t going to be friendly,” I said. I could see they weren’t buying it. I guess I wouldn’t have either.
We went round and round for at least four hours. It went like this; McNulty would leave me in the room with the other guy standing at the door for an hour. Then he’d come back in and ask me the same questions. How did I know Gaglioni, what the hell was I doing there in the middle of the night? Why did I smoke all three? Who was I working for, them? The mob bosses?
After hour five, I gave up Miller and told him I was working undercover for them.
Another hour passed and McNulty was back to grilling me, the door cop had been replaced long ago and the next guy was looking pretty grim. Suddenly the door opened and a weaselly looking guy came it with a folder. McNulty opened it up. Read it quickly. Then shoved it over to my side.
He spoke what I was reading, Agent Miller and Agent Williams were dismissed from the FBI two years ago. The charges were redacted.
McNulty stood up straight.
“Jonathan Stone, I am arresting you for the murder of Victor Gaglioni, Sam Rosen and Edward Zeccolla.” He read me my rights, turned to Patrolmen Grim and said, “Take Mr. Stone down to Cell B12.”
Then he looked at me again.
“Anything you want to tell me now? It might save your life, get you a lesser sentence.”
I just shook my head. They led me out. Some private dick, scammed by a couple of losers, I thought to myself, but why the con, what was in it for them.”
My head spun like an eight-ball curving into the back pocket. My hands were shaking, so I crammed them into my coat pockets; I didn’t want the cop to think I was nervous, which I guess sounds pretty stupid since they were arresting me for murdering three people. There were three of them in the car, two of the patrolmen who found me and a higher up who came as they were taking me into the squad car. His name, was Stewart McNulty and he was one of the best-known cops in mid-town. He was frequently in the tabloids, both for his high-profile arrests as well as being seen at the best watering holes and uptown parties. His pedigree included a very wealthy family, as well as a Harvard education. The press had christened him ‘the hammer’ because he solved complex cases faster than anyone else and “came down like a hammer,” when it came to putting bad guys in jail. The less well-known origin story of that name, handed down in a whisper, that he once took a hammer to a suspect and left his head looking like a busted-up watermelon. When we got to the station, I was ceremoniously thrown into an interview room. And there I sweated for the next forty-five minutes. Finally, McNulty and another cop came in. McNulty sat down while the other cop stood by the door as if there was any possibility I would try to escape.
“Name?”
I stared.
He looked at me like I was a mental patient.
“Name?”
“Johnny Stone,” I said, thinking of the dance Farentino put me through at the station house in Brooklyn. But McNulty came right to the point.
“Why did you kill those guys, Johnny? What was the beef?”
I tried to sit up straight and not look like a fish pulled out of the river.
“I didn’t kill those guys. They were dead when I got there.” I replied.
“So, why’d you have a forty five in your hand, pointed at the officers when they walked into the office?”
I tried to calm down, tried to keep my voice from shaking.
“I wasn’t pointing the gun at them.”
McNulty chuckled and looked at the cop by the door.
“You sayin’ Jimmy here is a liar?”
I looked at Jimmy, young, with a flushed red face, ready to clean up the city and send killers like me to the electric chair.
“No. But I had the gun in my hand when a heard footsteps. I didn’t know who was coming, but I was pretty sure they weren’t going to be friendly,” I said. I could see they weren’t buying it. I guess I wouldn’t have either.
We went round and round for at least four hours. It went like this; McNulty would leave me in the room with the other guy standing at the door for an hour. Then he’d come back in and ask me the same questions. How did I know Gaglioni, what the hell was I doing there in the middle of the night? Why did I smoke all three? Who was I working for, them? The mob bosses?
After hour five, I gave up Miller and told him I was working undercover for them.
Another hour passed and McNulty was back grilling me, the door cop had been replaced long ago and the next guy was looking pretty grim. Suddenly the door opened and a weaselly looking guy came it with a folder. McNulty opened it up. Read it quickly. Then shoved it over to my side.
He spoke what I was reading, Agent Miller and Agent Williams were dimissed from the FBI two years ago. The charges were redacted.
McNulty stood up straight.
“Jonathan Stone, I am arresting you for the murder of Victor Gaglioni, Sam Rosen and Edward Zeccolla.” He read me my rights, turned to Patrolmen Grim and said, “Take Mr. Stone down to Cell B12.”
Then he looked at me again.
“Anything you want to tell me now? It might save your life, get you a lesser sentence.”
I just shook my head. They led me out. Some private dick, scammed by a couple of losers, I thought to myself, but why the con, what was in it for them.”
*****
It’s hard to really describe how it feels when they lock you up. To say “you are a prisoner” might be a good start but that just circles it back to the fact that if you’ve never heard the prison cell being locked with you behind it, it doesn’t really say much. I could describe the chamber; peeling green industrial paint, a steel toilet bowl (no seat) backed up so that the room smelled like shit, no windows in this particular cell. I guess the only good thing about this was that I wasn’t in the drunk tank with the other psychos.
I spent a restless night, in and out of sleep. Hearing the loud screams of the other guests who were there on the cities dime. I have no idea what he was screaming about.
I couldn’t imagine spending any real time in jail, though I thought I might have to start imagining it if things got really bad. I’d no doubt that Marvin set me up, but I was also pretty damn sure that he wasn’t the person who orchestrated the whole thing; that would be the Bud Abbott and Lou Costello of the FBI, Miller and Williams. But they too were working for somebody. I wondered how high up this all went. I’d also no doubt that I was the perfect fall-guy.
What I did know was that this was part of a mob driven union war. I went through the events that led me into Hotel de City Jail. It began, at least for me, with the murder of Vincent Santelli, then came the hits on Danny Alonzo and Freddie Jackson. Throw in Victor Gaglioni and his two goons and we got an even half dozen dead guys. Were they connected in any way? That didn’t really make sense since Vinnie, Danny and Freddie were on the side of the angels and the three bad guys, were, well, bad guys. Miller and William, who were still very much alive, only clouded the situation. It wasn’t until I heard the barking of my name and the turning of the jail door keys that I was pulled out of my musings.
“Ok Stone. Time to go.”
“Go where,” I asked the blue suited neanderthal.
“Out. You’re being released.” He opened the door and hitched a thumb over his shoulder, “Come on. Let’s go.”
We climbed the stairs to the squad room where I pushed into McNulty’s office. McNulty looked like he’d just graduated from the college of scary faces. There were two chairs in front of his desk. On one of them I saw the back of a front that I knew to be as beautiful as a mortal girl can be; Antonia Farentino. Again, I was pushed into the second chair.
Toni was in full lawyer regalia. Lightly made up, sitting ramrod straight, pad in hand.
She turned to look at me.
“You okay, Johnny?”
“I am now,” I said.
She turned to McNulty with a face that could earn her extra credit at the College of Scary Faces.
“Let’s wrap this up with alacrity, Captain. You have the M. E report right in front of you. All three men were shot with a 38 caliber. The gun Mr. Stone had in his hand was a 45 caliber. Your men surprised Mr. Stone who was at that time holding the 45, the tests have shown that the 45 hadn’t been fired. So, let’s sign whatever we need to sign so Mr. Stone can go home and I can get down to doing some real work.”
McNulty turned crimson. “Miss Farentino, your client was found at the scene of a triple murder, literally with blood on his hands, holding a weapon. We arrested the suspect, read him his Miranda rights. We did this all in accordance to police procedure—by the book.”
Toni half smiled, “Duly noted, now can we get this thing on the road.”
McNulty pushed a paper in front of me, then tossed a pen onto the paper.
“Sign here,” he said through gritted teeth.
I sighed it. So did Toni. Then she stood up, I followed her lead.
McNulty gave me a half-hearted scary face. “Somehow Stone, I don’t think this is the end for you. Personally, I think you’re up to your neck in this.”
Toni said, “If that’s all Captain McNulty.”
He looked Toni up and down. I could almost hear him thinking, “What the hell does this female think she’s doing!” Then he looked at me. “Don’t leave town.”
We walked out of the Mid Town precinct at around 9am. Toni was silent. She didn’t look angry, but I really couldn’t read her face. Then she spoke.
“What are you going to do, Johnny?”
“What do you mean?” I asked her.
She answered, “You’re not quitting this are you?”
“You know I can’t do that, Toni.”
She touched my face. The touch went right down to my toes; man, I was crazy about this woman I thought.
“I know. I’m just worried Johnny.”
I was worried too, not for me, but for Toni. She was in this as my attorney, I didn’t trust the cops, or anyone else these days. I wondered they, whoever, they were had eyes on her.
“I’m worried too Toni. I worry that you’re so close to this whole thing. Maybe you shouldn’t be my lawyer.”
Toni blanched, “What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Calm down,” I said. “I’m worried the bad guys might know something and try to hurt or scare you.”
Toni relaxed, got her color back and even smiled at me.
“While I don’t use it as a calling card, being the daughter of a well -known police captain, is about as much protection as anybody could ask for. Messing with me would bring down the whole department.”
I laughed. “I guess you’re right.”
We walked to the curb where Toni hailed a cab.
“I’m off to work now. Go back to Brooklyn, get some shut eye and I’ll see you tonight, Okay?”
“Okay,” I answered.
The cab pulled to the curb, Toni opened the door, then turned around and kissed me, “Be careful, Johnny.” She shut the door and the cab drove off. I just stood there, my heart being at an eight to the bar rhythm. I headed for the subway, a big fat stupid smile on my face.
